


Safe Haven

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Body Worship, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Boys Kissing, Courtship, First Time, Galra Keith (Voltron), Getting Together, Hair Braiding, Long Haired Keith, Long haired shiro, M/M, Mates, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Shiro (Voltron), Pining, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Skinny Dipping, Soulmates, Sparring, Top Keith (Voltron), Touch-Starved Shiro (Voltron), aka the one where Keith courts Shiro and the only one who doesn't know is Shiro, tattooed Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 00:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21311416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Shiro couldn't be more excited to get away from his desk job and back into space. But a diplomatic mission to meet with the Blade of Marmora turns out to hold more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 119
Kudos: 689





	Safe Haven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paokous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paokous/gifts).

> This is for Kou who wanted oblivious Shiro and then it spiraled from there. You're wonderful Kou and I hope you like this!
> 
> Thank you whiskeyandwildflowers for the incredible beta. <3

“Shirogane, a word.”

Shiro stood to attention, dusting the powdered sugar off the front of his jacket and licking his lips as he shoved the second half of his donut back into its paper bag. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about the small dot of bright red raspberry jam on his collar, especially not with Iverson’s eyes on him as he crossed the empty hallway. He definitely should have waited to dig into his donut until he was safely back in his classroom grading papers.

“Commander Iverson,” he said, clearing his throat and hoping there wasn’t any sugar on his face. “How can I help you today, Sir?”

“I’ve been watching you, Shirogane. I’ve got to say, I’m very impressed with your leadership skills and your ability to stay cool under pressure. You’ve got a unique gift for encouraging the first year cadets and keeping them in line. In fact, I think you’re the only teacher who can handle them.”

“Thank you, sir,” Shiro said, pleased with the recognition but unsure where Iverson might be going. In the years he’d been his student, and then worked under him, he’d never been on the receiving end of this type of praise.

“I’ll be sorry to replace you.” Iverson said without reservation. “You’re going off-world.”

Shiro’s confusion only grew at that statement. Post-war, every one of his applications for an off-terrain mission had been denied—each reason more pathetic than the one before. Privately, Shiro thought that perhaps the Garrison was wary of trusting him in space given how poorly it had gone the last time, not that any of that had been Shiro’s fault. He also strongly suspected that some of the Garrison higher-ups were uncomfortable with the tech in his Galran prosthetic and were afraid of letting him out of their sight, which made Iverson’s current announcement all the more confusing. 

He schooled his features into something that was hopefully less shocked. “Sir?”

“You’re going to New Daibazaal, Shirogane.”

“No one goes to New Daibazaal,” Shiro responded automatically. 

Iverson’s face took on a pinched expression. “Well you are. As a diplomatic envoy to the Blade of Marmora.”

Shiro blinked, donut bag slipping out of his left hand and thudding to the floor. He racked his brain trying to recall what he knew about the Blades. He didn’t know much aside from their limited but important involvement in the end of the war, and his private suspicions that they’d played a role in his escape from captivity. Iverson tutted, bending to retrieve his bag and passing it back to him.

“Why me?” Shiro asked, unable to help himself. This opportunity was everything he’d been dreaming of. Not that Shiro disliked his current job, but the truth was that his heart was still lost somewhere in the stars. Besides, Shiro was no diplomat. Not by a long shot. He was a teacher. A teacher with jelly on his uniform. 

“You know I’ve asked myself that same question multiple times.” Iverson paused, rubbing his hand over his jaw as if lost in thought for a moment before fixing his eyes on Shiro once more. “They requested you specifically. In fact I think their exact words were, Takashi Shirogane or no one’.”

Shiro hoped his own surprise wasn’t as evident as Iverson’s. He was surprised but excited, adrenaline coursing through his body despite his confusion. Space. He was going back to space. Shiro had so many questions, but he was too afraid to ask them and risk Iverson changing his mind.

“I assume you have no objections?” Iverson commented when Shiro remained silent.

“No, Sir. No objections. I’d be honored to accept.” Immediately Shiro began to mentally plot out what he needed to do to prepare for that kind of journey. There were at least half a dozen books about Alien cultures in the library which had been on Shiro’s to-read list for months, though to his knowledge each one contained only a brief chapter of less on the Galra specifically. 

A smile spread across Iverson’s face, the first one Shiro had ever seen, and he clapped Shiro on the shoulder. “Good man, Shirogane. You leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Shiro croaked, accidentally crushing his donut between his metal fingers. Tomorrow.

“That a problem, Shirogane?” Iverson cocked an eyebrow.

“No, Sir. Not a problem at all,” Shiro lied. 

“Good man. I knew you could handle this job. Report to Terminal Six at 19:00 tomorrow and don’t be late. And Shirogane?”

“Yes, Sir?” Shiro asked, mind stuck somewhere between complete panic and unbridled excitement.

“Get yourself a new jacket,” he said, tapping the jelly stain. Then he was gone leaving Shiro alone in the hallway clutching his white paper bag like a lifeline. He folded open the bag and peered inside, eyeing the smashed monstrosity at the bottom of his bag. It looked like someone had murdered his donut.

Shiro inhaled a shaky breath and wondered if they had anything resembling donuts on New Daizabaal.

* * *

Shiro closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose, blowing it out through his teeth and hoping to settle his nerves. The early morning light was peeking across the horizon and Shiro could hardly believe that at this same time yesterday he’d been poking at his coffee pot with bleary eyes trying to get ready for classes, and today he was sitting in the pilot seat of the Garrison’s newest intergalactic space shuttle.

A laugh bubbled out of his chest as he checked his seatbelt for the fourth time.

“Everything alright in there?” Mission Control asked.

Shiro cleared his throat. “Absolutely. Ready when you are.”

And ready Shiro was. He’d barely slept, up all night packing and devouring every bit of information he could get his hands on about the elusive Blade of Marmora and the specific region of New Daizabaal he was heading to. The maps he’d been able to access in the Garrison’s database were rudimentary at best—based on limited satellite images and a few second hand accounts they’d recorded during the war. In a perfect situation Shiro would’ve had weeks to prepare and ensure he knew exactly what he was getting into. This was not a perfect situation but Shiro was determined to make the most of this opportunity. He only hoped the Blades wouldn’t be able to immediately pick up on his inexperience at diplomacy. 

“You’re clear for takeoff.”

A smile spread across Shiro’s face as he flipped on the thrusters and felt the engine rumble beneath him.

Shiro was going to space.

* * *

Shiro had hoped to arrive at New Daibazaal well-rested and ready to greet the Galra with a bright smile and a clear mind.

His cruiser had an automatic piloting function which he’d planned to take advantage of to catch a few hours of shuteye once it became absolutely necessary. And on a journey of that length it would definitely become necessary. Even with the wormhole the Blades had arranged for him to reduce the time it took him to reach them, it would still take him nearly forty hours. 

The length of the flight wasn’t a problem for Shiro who relished the opportunity to be flying again. After years spent behind a desk, teaching the theoreticals of piloting and space exploration, it felt like coming home to be behind the controls again. It was so good that Shiro avoided using the autopilot for as long as possible, reveling in the sense of control and focus he felt while being the one to pilot his cruiser through the stars. Problem was, eventually Shiro’s lack of sleep began to catch up with him. It was fourteen hours and thirty-nine minutes into Shiro’s flight—right as his eyes began to droop and his head spun from sleep deprivation—that he discovered the self-piloting function of his cruiser was malfunctioning. Or more accurately, was broken.

Which was fine. Shiro wasn’t going to panic. He was too far away to turn around and there was no point in sending a message back to the Garrison about something no one else could do anything about . Besides, he knew that he was more than capable of piloting the entire journey on his own. Shiro could totally handle this. He had the coordinates memorized and there was nothing Shiro liked more than watching the stars. That little hiccup in autopilot was only going to affect his ability to sleep, not to reach the Blades, and a little sleep deprivation never hurt anyone.

Twenty hours in, Shiro turned the coolant systems on high, hoping to make himself too cold to fall asleep.

Twenty-five hours in, he broke into the jumbo size bag of Skittles he’d snuck in his pocket, hoping to stave away his growing exhaustion by consuming enough sugar to send a dragon into a sugar coma.

At thirty-three hours, Shiro resorted to opening the first aid kit stashed under the pilot seat and attempting to tape his eyes open with medical tape. It didn’t work. 

By thirty-nine hours, Shiro’s confidence in his mission’s success briefly wavered. At least until a transmission reached his ship, his communications system flashed an incoming message alert. Even in his sleep-deprived haze, the surprise was enough to get him moving quickly and he keyed in the access code, accepting the call. The nano screen in the window flicked and it occurred to Shiro that his hair hadn’t been brushed since before he left, his forelock was sticking up in an unnatural position because of the change in humidity, and his bun—which was perfectly neat upon departure—had been roughly yanked out at least ten hours prior when he’d felt the beginnings of an oncoming headache. He could only imagine what he looked like and hoped his less-than-professional appearance wouldn’t offend the Galra. He attempted to pat down his hair, but it was a useless endeavor and he gave up seconds later when the video call opened.

“Hello, it’s a pleasure to—” but Shiro was cut off by another voice. It took him all of three seconds to realize it was a pre-recorded message, likely played to all incoming ships. He relaxed, leaning his head back on the seat to listen to the message.

__

_Welcome to the Caelestis Galaxy, Captain Shirogane. Your approximate landing time is estimated at two varga. Shields have been lowered in anticipation of your arrival and the Blade of Marmora look forward to meeting you. Vrepit Sa._

As unexpectedly as the message had come in, it cut off— holoscreen disappearing once more to leave Shiro with an unobstructed view of the stars. It was breathtaking and the sense of wonder Shiro felt every time he looked out upon the vast expanse of blackness around him filled him with a renewed sense of wonder. It was a wonder that set his heart racing and his blood pumping—adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Shiro might not have a clue what he was getting himself into once he got on the planet, but he was more than ready for the challenge. Whatever it entailed, Shiro was determined to prove that he was the right man for the job—prove it to the Blades and the Garrison. And maybe even to himself.

Just a few more hours and he would be there. 

He could do it.

* * *

The resolve which had gotten Shiro through the last leg of his journey wavered the moment he entered New Daibazaal’s atmosphere and felt the stabilizing rockets in the engine rumble to life. His legs were stiff, he was absolutely dying for something to eat besides candy or dehydrated protein rations, and he was so tired he almost felt drunk.

But he’d made it. 

Overwhelming relief flooded Shiro as he punched in the landing coordinates and began his deceleration into what was supposed to be the Blades’ colony. Problem was, the lower Shiro got, the less inhabited the area began to look. It was thick with trees, and as Shiro began to worry that the coordinates he’d been given were wrong and his ship was going to crash into the top of a massive tree with purple and blue leaves, the tree itself shimmered and then simply disappeared.

The previous message he’d received suddenly made a lot more sense as Shiro got closer to the ground and saw that the area was not, as he’d initially observed, a dense jungle but rather craggy cliffs and rocky plains that butted up against what looked like the seaside. All around him the cliffs were dotted with massive boulders and tall green grass that waved in the wind. It was as beautiful as it was desolate, and for another terrifying moment Shiro worried that perhaps the coordinates had landed in the wrong place, again.

Before he could worry too much, another incoming message flashed across the controls dash and Shiro accepted the message as he prepared for landing, settling his ship down on the top of a sparse cliff right as the holoscreen flickered on and another message—the same masked Blade member again—began to speak.

_Welcome to New Daibazaal. Please remain seated in your ship. Your escort will arrive shortly to accompany you to the city._

Oh, well that explained things. Sort of. He’d known the Blades were highly private and little was known of the place they’d settled post-war. The paltry amount of information he had been able to get his hands on from the library and his increased security clearance had been laughable at best—details about fighting styles and combat clothing. There’d been almost nothing about interpersonal relationships, culture, or habitat, and Shiro had quickly accepted that he was going into this diplomatic mission blind. Knowing these things logically and coming face to face with them himself however, was something else entirely.

With nothing to do but wait, Shiro unlocked his safety belt and settled back in his seat—eyes fluttering shut immediately. Now that the adrenaline and urgency had worn off, the exhaustion hit Shiro like a ton of bricks and not even the threat of oncoming battle would’ve been enough to stir him from the comfort of his seat. 

Not that he was going to sleep of course. That would be inappropriate and ill-timed with the Galran envoy coming to collect him.

He was just going to rest his eyes for a few minutes, that was all.

* * *

Shiro was dreaming.

It was a good dream. Probably the best he’d had in years. Most of the time he couldn’t recall his dreams, which was for the best—just snatches of memories better forgotten that usually left him trembling in the dark. This one though, this dream made him feel _good._

Warm fingertips were making their way down the side of his neck, moving lower to trace the curve of his shoulder and then down over his chest. The touch was delicate but questioning, almost as if the hands were mapping his body. Shiro let out a hum of contentment as the hands settled over his heart, pressing firmly before moving back up to trace across his clothed collarbone and then skirting upwards once more across his jawline and even tracing along the shell of his ear. They lingered at his cheek, fingertips stroking light as a feather over his cheekbone before they unexpectedly made their way into his hair. 

One hand gingerly stroked the hair off his forehead, the pads of rough fingertips tracing across his eyebrows as the other hand combed through the knots at the end of his hair soothingly. It was all Shiro could do not to cry, overcome by how good to felt to be touched like that, even in a dream. 

There was a knot of tension in between his shoulder blades and his neck ached from the uncomfortable sleeping position, but all of that faded into nothingness as Shiro’s body relaxed, his limbs heavy as the fingers continued to stroke though his hair. He’d almost forgotten just how much he liked having his hair touched, what with his lackluster dating life and the fact that he always needed to keep it tied up off his face. But god, did he like it. He liked it so much he could almost hear himself whimpering in his sleep, desperate to beg his dream man to never stop. It was life’s funny joke that what Shiro initially thought might be a sex dream was turning into, well _this_. It’d clearly been too long since he’d been with another man if his body’s idea of a wild sex dream was turning out to be having his hair stroked instead of his dick, but Shiro wasn’t about to complain. Not when it was one of the nicest dreams he’d ever had—a dream so realistic he could practically feel the drag of sharp nails across his freshly sheared undercut.

Nails. Across his scalp.

Shiro’s eyes flew open and were met with the intense gaze of another person, or, well—alien to be more exact. He blinked to make sure he wasn’t dreaming but nope there were definitely deep purple irises staring back at him. Not just purple eyes. Purple _everything_.

He had to be the envoy the Blades had sent to retrieve Shiro. 

Shiro felt like he should be more concerned about the fact that whoever it was happened to be in his lap, but they were also still stroking his hair and Shiro’s faculties seemed to have disappeared, lost in a haze of sleep-induced brain fog and a soul deep desire to be touched.

It wasn’t every day you woke up with a lap full of an alien. A very attractive alien at that. 

Whoever this was, he had a pretty face—sharp and angular but with full lips and the most expressive eyes. His face was framed with black hair, little bits flying this way, and most of it was pulled back—twisted and braided in an intricate design that reminded Shiro very much of human viking braids. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was even a tiny scrap of red leather tied to the end of the braid which was thrown over his shoulder along with what appeared to be a long knife strapped to his back. There was also something that looked suspiciously like a seashell woven into the braid just above his left ear. His fuzzy ear. _Fuzzy ears_. Like many of the Galra Shiro had encountered in the past, he had cat like ears protruding from his dark hair. They twitched when he cocked his head, clearing observing Shiro with the same unabashed intensity Shiro was observing him with.

He was overcome with an inexplicable urge to touch the stranger’s ears and see if they were as soft as they looked—slightly fuzzy, almost like velvet, and smooth like the rest of his purple tinted skin—but he quashed that thought down immediately, knowing it would be both rude and wildly inappropriate. He was just glad mind reading wasn’t a skill the Blade of Marmora possessed. At least he didn’t think it was.

“Oh good, you are alive,” the stranger spoke. The timbre of his voice was unexpectedly warm, almost worried, and Shiro suppressed a shiver. He had a very nice voice.

“I think so,” Shiro replied, embarrassed at the pitch of his own voice and not entirely convinced he hadn’t dreamed up the pretty stranger in front of him.

At Shiro’s answer, his mystery companion pulled his hand from Shiro’s hair and gracefully removed himself from Shiro’s lap without a word, as if his presence there had been perfectly normal. Well, if he wasn’t going to mention it neither was Shiro.

“You were not moving. I tried to find your heartbeat but Terran bodies are very strange. It was not where it was supposed to be.” There was a tightness in his voice and his ears were noticeably flattened.

Shiro thought back to his dream-that-was-not-a-dream and the hands which had roamed over his body and felt his face flush with warmth. At least now he knew why those hands had been all over his body. The stranger hadn’t just wanted to touch him, he’d been trying to make sure Shiro wasn’t dead. Of course that was why. Even the hint of worry Shiro thought he’d detected in his voice made more sense now. 

“I apologize for any unnecessary worry I might have caused you. I guess I was more tired than I thought.” He scrubbed a hand across his jaw, noticing for the first time the stubble he’d grown since he left. He was in desperate need of a shower and a shave and could hardly believe he was making such a horrible first impression. Feeling as if he owed his host more of an explanation for his unprofessionalism he continued to speak. “I guess I was a bit excited before the journey and didn’t really sleep and then the autopilot on my ship malfunctioned so I was unable to rest on the way here and—”

“How many varga has it been since you have slept?” he interrupted, eyebrows narrowed.

“Oh, just a few you hours maybe. Or maybe days. I don’t actually know but it’s alright. It doesn’t matter.” He sat up straighter, grabbing the rubber band off his wrist and pulling his hair back in a haphazard ponytail. 

The Galra’s eyes widened and Shiro internally groaned, afraid he’d only made his appearance worse but there was no way to help it now.

“I was under the impression that humans need sleep to function properly,” he said looking both concerned and confused.

“Oh, I mean, well—we do.”

“Then why did you say it does not matter?” he asked, head cocked to the side.

“It’s an expression. Um…humans often say it when they’re trying to make light of a situation.” 

“So humans lie,” he clarified, clearly trying to make sense of it.

Shiro wanted to slam his face into the control panel. “It’s not lying. Not exactly, we just—_I_ don’t like people to worry about me. So I have a habit of saying everything is fine even when it’s not and, yeah. But I mean I am fine. Really. I’m tired but no one ever died from being tired.”

He laughed but the Galra didn’t laugh with him. Instead, his lips thinned. For one agonizingly long second, Shiro had a flash of the Blades sending him back to Earth before he’d even set foot on New Daibazaal.

“You will come with me,” he commanded, leaving no room for Shiro to object—not that he would have dared. 

Shiro’s apprehension spiked, and he found himself completely unable to question what was happening as he followed the stranger out of his cruiser and across the cliff. He followed silently, his eyes constantly darting from the uneven terrain below his feet so he didn’t trip, and up to watch his mystery companion whose name he still didn’t know. He remained quiet as they traversed up the side of the cliff and down a winding trail. Just when Shiro began to doubt they were actually going to meet the Blades, they rose over a small hill and he caught sight of a sprawling city built on the edge of the cliffs. 

Shiro stopped dead in his tracks, amazed at what he was seeing. Somehow in all his wildest dreams of what New Daibazaal might look like, it had never been like this. It was nothing like the cities on Earth. There were no clear roads but rather pathways winding in and out of buildings of all shapes and sizes that rose into the sky almost like tree houses—buildings twisting up high into the clouds almost as if the Galra were trying to get as close to the sky as possible.

It was beautiful.

“Welcome to New Daibazaal.” His companion studied him without reservation, almost as if he was looking for Shiro’s reaction to his home. He supposed the Blades wanted to make a good impression in the hopes of officially forging the alliance. 

Shiro nodded, unsure there were a word good enough to explain how much he liked it. “It’s incredible.”

This seemed to be the right thing to say as the Galra smiled for the first time since Shiro had opened his eyes, and the transformation was unbelievable. He seemed a little younger somehow—less serious perhaps—and Shiro’s chest fluttered unexpectedly as he reminded himself that the smile wasn’t for him specifically but for the future of their alliance.

Shiro barely had time to appreciate the incredible mix of technology and architecture which seamlessly blended into the wild landscape around them because the Galra was moving too swiftly giving him no pause to really appreciate the city. Shiro supposed his urgency was likely due to the Blades' desire to begin talks so he didn’t question it, following along obediently.

By the time they stopped in front of the doorway to a small house on the edge of town, Shiro’s nerves had rose to a crescendo and he wiped his sweaty palms across his thighs and prayed that whoever they were about to meet wouldn’t take offense to his appearance which had to be worse than before after a half hour hike. His companion had given no indication of who or what might be on the other side of the door, quiet as ever as he placed his hand on the sensor by the door to unlock it.

He inhaled a slow, steady deep breathe through his nose and reminded himself that he was more than capable of handling whatever was about to come his way. He’d been chosen for a reason—even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that reason was—and he could do this.

“Come,” the Galra beckoned, pushing open the door and stepping to the side. He obviously meant for Shiro to enter first and Shiro mustered every ounce of courage he possessed and stepped inside ready to face whoever, or whatever, he was about to encounter with bravery and grace.

What he encountered was a bed.

An empty bed. Not an official diplomatic delegate to greet him or an immediate meeting like Shiro had expected, but a harmless, empty bedroom.

When he turned around, hoping to figure out what was happening he noticed the Galra’s ears were laying flat against his head as he fidgeted with the hilt of the sword tied to his belt. “Does it please you?”

“Does it please me?” Shiro repeated, trying to make sense of the situation. His companion’s ears twitched, plastering themselves nearly flat to his head and Shiro felt a soul deep urge to assuage his worry even if he didn’t quite understand what was happening. Maybe it was standard for the consular envoy to be taken to a room to bathe and make himself presentable. It was even likely that this Galra who’d been sent to retrieve him was simply hoping to save Shiro from the embarrassment of being seen by whoever it was he was meant to engage in peace talks with while looking like he faced off with a dragon and lost.

Realizing the Galra was waiting for him to say something else Shiro cleared his throat and smiled. “Yes, it pleases me very much. I’m grateful for the kindness and hospitality after such a long journey.”

This seemed to satisfy him, his ears perking up as he exhaled. 

Now that he knew there was no expectation aside from rest and relaxation, at least for the time being, Shiro allowed his eyes to wander around the bedroom, taking in the dark blue sheets and thick fur draped over the top. The walls were decorated in ornate art and there was a large window overlooking the bluffs. Through the fog, Shiro could just make out the seaside in the distance. He wondered if all the Galra had rooms of similar style or he’d been taken to a special one because of his diplomatic status.

“I will leave you to rest. Please, sleep. Meetings can wait until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Shiro echoed, body already going heavy at the sight of a real honest-to-god bed. His eyes drooped and he jumped, afraid he was going to fall asleep standing up. When he turned back around to say thank you, the Galra was already gone, apparently leaving him to rest and nurse his embarrassment in peace.

He kicked off his shoes and tumbled face down onto the bed, not even bothering to remove his clothing. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he’d forgotten to get the pretty Galra’s name.

* * *

Shiro awoke slowly, rolling onto his back with a groan as he stretched his arms and legs out. He felt, well—amazing. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept so soundly and wasn’t sure if it was a sign of just how exhausted he must’ve been or just how comfortable the bed was. Probably both.

When he cracked open his eyes—expecting to see the room flooded with midday light—he was surprised to find it shrouded in shadows. Shit. So much for a short nap. Panic momentarily assaulted Shiro as he worried he’d slept too long and offended the Galra. He leapt from the bed, mind racing as he tried to figure out how he was going to get his things from his cruiser so he could make himself presentable and make his apologies. He didn’t have long to wonder though because as he looked around the room he realized his duffel bag was now sitting beneath the table on the far side of the room, Which was piled high with unfamiliar fruits and nuts and large red envelope. 

It was strange to think someone had entered the room while he slept, but any twinge of awkwardness he felt at the idea of some poor Galra being forced to bear witness to him snoring or drooling was assuaged by the presence of food. His stomach growled loudly and Shiro reached for a large, purple looking fruit first. He gave it a squeeze, the unfamiliar flesh soft beneath his finger like an overripe peach and decided to go for it—sinking his teeth into it and praying the outer flesh was edible. Sweetness exploded on his tongue as thick rivulets of juice ran down his chin. Again Shiro was glad there was no one to bear witness to the indecent way he shoved the fruit in his mouth again, slurping at the juice and eating it with all the voracity of a starving man. Which, Shiro supposed, he was.

He ate and ate until all that was left with a moon shaped pit which he set on a silver platter, wiping his sticky hands on his pants and his mouth on his arm. He poked at the wooden bowl of what appeared to be some kind of space nuts, scooping up a handful and throwing them into his mouth. Despite their physical resemblance to Earth nuts, that was where the similarities stopped. They were bitter and unexpectedly chewy and Shiro reached for the bowl to spit it back out, immediately picking up another piece of fruit.

Once he’d had his fill—table littered with pits—he dried his hands on his pants and reached for the envelope.

_I hope the accommodations met your satisfaction, Captain Shirogane. I took the liberty of bringing in your belongings and some food since I was unsure when you would wake. In anticipation of meeting the Blade leaders, I also stocked the bathroom with supplies should you wish to bathe. It is an honor to have you in New Daibazaal._

_—K_

Shiro scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw and looked down as his rumbled, sticky space suit. Yeah, he needed to bathe alright, he was a literal hot mess. Now that his exhaustion was gone, all he could feel was shock that he’d somehow managed to fail to introduce himself to his mystery helper and slept through an entire first day. So far he was doing a pretty shitty job of acting as a consular envoy, but he was determined to make up for his poor first impression.

He traced the large K at the bottom of the letter and wondered if it was the same Galra who had helped him before. He couldn’t help but be curious who exactly K was, assuming it was the same Galra who found him asleep in his cruiser and taken him to a room to rest. He was only sorry he’d never got to thank him for his hospitality and kindness and hoped he’d have the chance before this diplomatic mission was over.

* * *

Shiro eyed his reflection in the bathroom mirror, pleased with what he saw.

His face was freshly shaved and his hair no longer looked like he’d been on the losing end of a battle with a light socket. Instead it’d been washed for the first time in days and was now dried and pulled back into a respectable looking bun—well most of it was pulled up anyway. He never could get the long bits in the front to cooperate and was so used to them falling across his forehead now that he didn’t feel like himself without them. 

No longer was he dressed in the same dirty flight suit he’d worn for seventy four hours. Instead he was dressed in his Garrison best—slacks and jacket perfectly fitted. All thanks to the mystery Galra who’d had the forethought and generosity to bring him his things so he didn’t have to venture out of his guest rooms in search of his belongings which he’d somehow managed to forget in his sleepiness. 

Shiro might not be able to take back the horrible first impression he’d made, but he could ensure that his next impression was better. Not that it was hard to top himself when he’d set the bar so low, but Shiro was confident he could do what needed to be done. On the plus side, only one member of the Blades had seen him and since he hadn’t introduced himself first, Shiro was assuming he wasn’t part of the diplomatic delegate Shiro would be meeting with over the course of the following week. He just hoped that whoever the poor Galra was who’d been tasked with escorting Shiro into the city earlier didn’t relay Shiro’s embarrassing and lackluster first impression to the Blade leaders.

With one last glance at his reflection, he squared his shoulders and smiled. 

He could totally do this.

* * *

“Ah, Champion, there you are. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I am Ulaz.” He lifted his hand in a salute—middle and pointer finger extended but the rest curled into his palm as he lifted it to his forehead. Shiro recognized the gesture at once as one reserved for trusted comrades.

A flicker of unease rose in Shiro—no one had used that nickname for him since his time in the Arena—but he stamped his gut reaction down and plastered on a polite smile. Now wasn’t the time for his own feelings to get in the way. Now was the time to help ensure the Blade of Marmora officially joined Earth’s coalition.

He allowed himself a few seconds pause to appraise Ulaz. Aside from the shape of the ears, he beared no resemblance to the Galra he’d met before. Then again, Shiro knew better than anyone that the Galra were far too diverse a race to be surprised that many of them bore no physical resemblance to each other. His eyes ears were larger than the other Galra, his color almost white instead of purple, and he was substantially larger—even bigger than Shiro, which was saying something. 

“The honor is all mine,” Shiro told him, returning the salute. For the first time since he’d arrived, he was glad he’d forgone sleep to read enough about the Blades before his departure to understand the significance of the gesture. 

Ulaz’s eyes widened, his ears perking up. He looked surprised but also, if Shiro was not mistaken, pleased. It made Shiro flush with pride.

“You honor us,” Ulaz said with a wide smile—barring the fanged tips of his teeth. “I see you were the right choice.” 

“Now it is you who honor me,” Shiro acknowledged with a slight bow of his head.

Ulaz opened his mouth to say something else, but whatever it was Shiro didn’t get to find out, interrupted by the sound of the large double doors to the meeting room flying open. Standing in the doorway was another Galra, just as large as Ulaz but there was where the similarities ended. His ears were wide on the side of his head, almost bat like, and his face had distinct red markings. There was a large scar across his right eye and down the side of his face and, unlike Ulaz who had a small strip of white hair, this one had a long braid cascading down his back. The most distinct difference though was not something physical, but rather his energy. Where Ulaz seemed to radiate a kind of peaceful aura, this Galra’s face was turned down in a scowl and was anything but.

“Kolivan, there are you. You are late.” Ulaz, took a step to the side to make room for him to stand across from Shiro.

Kolivan grunted, tugging on the leather strap across his shoulder as he stalked across the room. “Keith was getting himself into trouble. Again.”

Ulaz nodded his head. “What was it today?”

“He was training the newest Quagga. He tried to jump it over the cliff.” Kolivan looked anything but impressed. 

“You don’t mean while riding it do you?” Ulaz asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Kolivan said with a long suffering sigh. 

Shiro tried to follow along with the conversation, wondering what exactly a Quagga was and who was Keith. Keith was the least Galra sounding name Shiro had ever heard. And apparently he’d tried to jump something over a cliff. Shiro was as curious about him as he was impressed.

“Where is he now?” Ulaz asked. “This was his idea. He should be here greeting our guest.”

At those words Kolivan seemed to notice Shiro’s presence for the first time. He turned to look Shiro and give him something which he could only assume was meant to be a smile but definitely looked more like a grimace. 

“Welcome to New Daibazaal, Captain Shirogane. The Blade of Marmora are grateful you could take time out of your busy schedule to make the long journey. I’m sure it was not easy for someone as important as you to find the time and we are honored you would agree to our request for you to serve as diplomatic consular. There is no one else the Blade would trust.”

Shiro resisted the urge to correct them and tell them that he was hardly considered important in the way they seemed to think. Or that the busiest part of his entire week was his solo Friday night grading parties which consisted of him, a family size box of mac and cheese and a package of Oreos.

“The honor is all mine I can assure you. Nothing is more important to Earth, or me, than ensuring the continued peace and cooperation between our people. The journey was nothing short of incredible.”

“The Theta Zeconis system is one of the most beautiful in all the known universes. It is why the Galra were eager to begin again here and establish New Daibazaal.”

“I can understand why you did. It’s undeniably beautiful. I wondered if—” but Shiro never got to finish his sentence because another Galra came barreling into the room. There was no other word for his arrival—feet moving swiftly beneath him and a flurry of leaves and grass scattering beneath his boots as he ran into the room. Shiro tried to catch sight of his face but he was nothing but a blur, running too fast and long hair covering his face.

“Sorry I’m late,” he all but shouted as he slid to a dead dead stop right Ulaz, clearing avoiding the empty spot beside Kolivan. “_Someone_ made me muck out the stables and I stepped in a pile of Quagga excrement so I had to go and change my boots but I’m here now and—”

“And you’ve kept Captain Shirogane waiting,” Ulaz finished.

The Galra snapped his mouth shut, eyes going comically wide and ears flattening against his head as he spun on he heels to face Shiro. For the first time Shiro was able to get a good look at the newest arrival and what he saw had every bit of oxygen leaving his lungs.

It was the Galra from yesterday. 

Shiro very nearly choked on his own tongue. His previous embarrassment which he’d worked hard to move past flared to life as he imagined the pretty Galra in front of him witnessing Shiro drooling on his pillow.

“My apologies for Keith’s behavior. This is his first diplomatic mission. Perhaps he was not yet ready.”

_Keith_. This was Keith. The same person who’d kindly retrieved him from his cruiser and taken him to rest. The same one who’d brought him his luggage and snacks and allowed him the privacy to regain his composure before the meetings began. The same Keith who’d apparently tried to jump a Quagga over a cliff. 

Keith let out an indistinguishable noise, brushing his hands down the front of his deep blue tunic and staring at Shiro. Now that Shiro’s mind wasn’t addled with sleep deprivation, he could fully appreciate the color of Keith’s eyes. In fact, he could fully appreciate everything about Keith. Unlike the day before when his hair had been pulled back in tight braids, today most of it was down—long dark locks cascading over his shoulders, and just the left side had two tight braids. The same scrap of red leather was tied at the end and there was what appeared to be a silver star woven into the braid.

“I apologize for my lateness, Captain Shirogane. I’ve brought dishonor on the Blades and yourself by failing to offer your visit the respect it deserves.”

“For the second time no less,” Kolivan grumbled, crossing his arms.

Keith’s lips thinned but before he could speak, Shiro did. “Keith has been a wonderful host. I can assure you I felt welcome from the moment my ship landed. You couldn’t have picked a better Blade member to welcome me.”

Keith’s ears twitched at the praise and Shiro had to squash down the strange flutter in his chest when Keith smiled at him.

“I’m very glad to hear it, but it does not change the fact that his forgetfulness earlier was what led you to the delay in our meetings,” Kolivan said. “ A forgetfulness which I can assure you is very unlike him. I apologize most sincerely for the long hours you spend alone in your quarters before we realized your ship had landed. I hope it was not too much of an inconvenience.”

Shiro blinked in surprise. That wasn’t what happened at all, and he opened his mind to say so when Keith caught his eye and shook his head. It took Shiro a few seconds to realize that Keith was mouthing _our secret_. 

An unexpected warmth flooded Shiro’s body and he smiled as he spoke. “Not at all.”

Ulaz smiled and Kolivan, well, he didn’t frown.

“Wonderful.”

* * *

Whatever bashfulness Keith had exhibited during their first formal introduction disappeared the moment the official peace talks had begun. He was mostly silent during the meeting—Ulaz and Kolivan taking the lead on the talks—but he proved himself to be calm and capable when his opinion or expertise was called upon.

There was something undeniably powerful in the certainty with which he answered questions that made Shiro sit a little straighter. Ulaz and Kolivan were both skilled speakers with a lifetime of experience and knowledge, and yet Shiro found his eyes drawn to Keith over and over hoping to hear the soft lilt to his voice.

Of course Shiro was nothing if not capable of professionalism, and did his best during the long meeting to give all of the Blades his equal attention—to not let his eyes linger on Keith. To not get distracted by the sweep of his dark eyelashes or the way he rested his chin on his hands when Kolivan launched into a particularly long story about the time he’d taken down a full grown Drev’ek with nothing but his bare hands. Not to be outdone, Ulaz gave a harrowing account of the time he had escaped a pack of Khauk after unknowingly taking refuge in a cave which had turned out to be their home. 

The rest of the afternoon passed like that with each of them, including Keith, taking turns telling stories of their time in the Blades and the early days of exploration as they’d searched for an uninhabited planet to call their home. It was late by the time Kolivan and Ulaz called an end to the talks for the day, and Shiro’s desire to talk to Keith, which had been simmering just below the surface, rose to a boiling point. Thankfully, patience had always been one of Shiro’s strong suits and he clasped his hands behind his back and made pleasant small talk with Ulaz as he waited for him and Kolivan to take their leave. Keith busied himself with something on the desk in the far corner of the room and he was so quiet that for one brief moment after Ulaz and Kolivan had finally left, Shiro feared Keith had slipped away unnoticed. Then he turned to find Keith hovering at the end of the table rearranging a large stack of books. 

He wasn’t sure if it was accidental or if Keith had lingered on purpose, but he hoped it was the latter.

“Hello,” Shiro said softly, taking a step towards Keith.

“Hello,” Keith echoed, giving up all pretenses of fussing with the books and moving to stand beside Shiro. He was even prettier up close and when he tilted his head back to look up at Shiro, Shiro was left breathless. Up this close, and with no distractions, he was able to see how intricate the braids across the side of Keith’s head were—three small tight braids which became one.

“It appears I have a great deal to thank you for,” Shiro said, clearing his throat and hoping his cheeks weren’t as pink as they felt.

Keith shook his head. “It was nothing.”

“It was not nothing,” Shiro argued, eyes riveted to Keith’s face. “It was an act of kindness of which I am deeply grateful. I can’t thank you enough.”

Keith’s tongue darted out to swipe across his lips as he cocked his head to the side. A small bit of hair fell into his face but he brushed it aside, offering Shiro a soft smile. “It is my honor to do anything that would make your stay on New Daizabaal better.”

The flutter in Shiro’s chest crashed like a lead ball in the pit of his stomach. Of course. The peace talks. Keith was a good person, doing his best to ensure that as diplomatic envoy, Shiro had a positive impression of Keith’s home to report back to Earth. He felt foolish for entertaining—albeit briefly—any other fanciful ideas about why Keith might have shown him so much kindness.

“Well, you’ve more than succeeded,” Shiro answered, hoping none of his feelings showed on his face. Shiro was the only one to blame for inexplicably letting his imagination get the best of him. 

“There is one thing you could do. That would make my stay better I mean,” Shiro clarified at Keith’s questioning look. “You could call me Shiro. I feel like I’m being summoned to a meeting every time someone calls me Captain Shirogane. My friends call me Shiro and—and you could too. If you wanted, that is.”

“_Shiro_,” Keith repeated, the name sounded particularly lovely in the rich timbre of Keith’s voice. Then he said it a second time, almost as if testing the name out—lips pursed as the last syllable fell from his lips. “I look forward to spending time with you, Shiro.”

“And I you, Keith.”

Keith gave him an answering smile and Shiro held his breath, squashing down the flare of heat that pooled in his belly at the sight. 

Apparently this job was going to be challenging in ways Shiro had not expected.

* * *

With a heavy sigh, Shiro abandoned any pretenses of trying sleep and sat up instead, throwing his legs over the bed. He’d spent the better part of the last few hours tossing and turning and he was tired of the sight of the same four walls.

He was too keyed up to sleep—his mind racing with memories of the last time he’d been to space. Granted, this time he was the guest of the Galra and not their prisoner, but the fact remained that every time Shiro closed his eyes he couldn’t stop the unwanted memories from coming. Shiro knew it wasn’t logical. He knew he was safe. It’d been a long time since Shiro had been so plagued with the ghosts of his past. He also knew he’d slept great that first night, though he’d been nearly delirious with exhaustion then and too tired to think. Now though, now he could do nothing _but_ think.

Shiro kept reminding himself that this time he was here because he wanted to be—he’d been chosen—but in an entirely different way than before. 

There was no clock in his room but judging by the length of time he’d spent unable to sleep and both moons high in the sky, it had to be the middle of the night. The responsible thing to do would be to stay in his room since he didn’t know his way around the city yet. It was definitely what Shiro probably should do.

Except it wasn’t what he _wanted_ to do.

The walls of his room were beginning to feel smaller by the minute. He desperately wanted to see the stars for himself and not through the window—to stretch his legs and fill his lungs with fresh air. Maybe if he could tire himself out enough with a jog, he could get a few hours sleep again.

Decision made, Shiro strode across the room towards the wardrobe in the corner that now housed his belongings. This late at night, he was pretty sure he’d be the only one out so he figured it was okay to forgo his Garrison uniform in favor of something a lot more comfortable. He left on his sweatpants and tank top, rummaging through the drawers until he found his favorite sweatshirt—worn with age and a hole in the sleeve—pulling it on. Then he found his shoes and left the room.

Just as expected, the streets were devoid of any signs of life. After a few minutes of walking, and seeing no one, Shiro began to run instead. It was soothing to hear nothing but the sound of rocks crunching beneath his feet and the blood pumping in his ears. He ran and ran until he was at the very edge of town, the city lights and buildings nothing but a vision in the distance.

It wasn’t until Shiro reached the edge of a wooded forest that he realized just how far from the city he’d traveled. Finally allowing himself a moment’s pause he stopped running, pushing the sweaty hair off his forehead as he tried to catch his breath, wondering how exactly he was going to find his way back to his room now. He’d been so intent on leaving he hadn’t really thought about getting back.

Tutting to himself, he turned to peer into the forest when the sound of crunching branches hit his ears. Body tensing, Shiro stood taller. He hadn’t brought a weapon with him, but then again, his body was a weapon itself. The Empire had seen to that.

Curiosity warred with his self-preservation instincts as the crunching sound came again, followed by the heavy sound of breathing. Whatever was in the forest, it wasn’t an animal stumbling through the woods or a hunter stalking its prey. The sounds didn’t match.

Shiro paused, taking several steps closer to the edge of the trees and hoping to get more of a hint about what was inside. The closer he got, the louder the sounds became. In the end, Shiro's curiosity won out over anything else, including self-preservation. 

Despite his size, Shiro moved through the thick trees and undergrowth without making a sound. Shiro’s heart raced the closer he got to the source of the noise and by the time he reached a clearing in the trees, his curiosity was brimming.

Realistically, Shiro had expected to find something besides a wild animal in the woods, yet somehow he still found himself surprised to peek through the trees and find a Galra standing in the center of the forest.

Not just any Galra. _Keith._

He was dressed much the same as he had been when he’d led Shiro from his spaceship, but tonight his hair was back in a tight braid that hung down his back. Shiro watched with no small amount of awe as Keith swung his blade in front of him, his body moving seamlessly through the air as he did a backflip. Training. Keith was training.

Shiro couldn’t begin to imagine why he might be doing it so far out of town, secreted away in the trees. But then he knew better than anyone what it was like to have secrets.

He knew he should turn around and leave—let Keith have his privacy. Yet Shiro found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Keith as he slashed his sword through the air, body moving seamlessly. He made fighting look like a dance and Shiro’s attention was riveted to the obvious strength and grace Keith contained within his body. He was small but fierce, and Shiro’s respect for him increased.

Shiro was so enamored with watching, he didn’t stop to think as he moved closer—fallen leaves and branches crunching beneath his boots.

Keith’s ears perked up, entire body tensing and his sword poised to strike as he turned.

“Only a coward hides in the shadow,” Keith announced.

Shiro’s ears filled with a humming sound as he forced his feet to move him out into the open. “I’m so sorry so intruding. I didn’t mean to.”

Keith lowered his sword, eyes widening. “_Shiro_?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s me,” Shiro said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Hi, Keith.”

“Why are you out of your rooms? Is something wrong? Is—I called you a coward.” His ears drooped. “Please accept my deepest apologizes.” Keith dropped to his knees, laying his sword on the ground in front of him and bowing his head.

The move was so surprising it took Shiro a good few seconds to get his wits about him and speak. He crossed the clearing, touching a hand to Keith’s shoulder. Keith lifted his gaze but didn’t rise. “If anyone should apologize, it should be me. I couldn’t sleep and went for a run and ended up here and when I found you, well—I couldn’t look away. I’m sorry for startling you. Please, stand up.”

Keith hesitated for only a moment before rising to stand, then sheathing his sword. “Why were you watching?”

He didn’t seem bothered, merely curious if the tilt of his head and cocked ears were anything to go by. 

“Your training was—” Shiro paused, unsure if the word beautiful would please or offend him. He settled for a different one, just in case. “Mesmerizing.”

“Oh,” Keith breathed, ears perking up. “It pleased you to watch me train?”

“Yes,” Shiro answered honestly. “If you’re that good alone, I bet you’re even better with a skilled sparring opponent.”

Keith straightened his shoulders, standing a little taller. “I am very good. Perhaps one day I may show you, but there is no one here for me to spar tonight.”

“You could spar with me.” The words were out of Shiro’s mouth before he had time to overthink them. It was possibly not the wisest diplomatic move to challenge a new ally to a fight, but there was something in the way Keith had moved alone before that had Shiro itching to see what it was like to be opposite him in a fight—to find out what Keith looked like firsthand when he wasn’t holding back.

Shiro loathed fighting for real. Had no desire to exploit someone else’s weaknesses to end up the victor. But a spar—a challenge of skill—that interested Shiro very much. Especially if it was against someone like Keith.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Keith deadpanned.

Shiro couldn’t help it, he laughed. “I can hold my own pretty well. But thank you for the concern.”

“Oh. I did not mean to offend,” Keith protested, ears flattening. “I apologize, I—”

“No need to apologize,” Shiro interrupted, holding his hands up. “Besides, I like your confidence. That’s half of winning any fight anyway.”

“You truly wish to spar with me?” Keith asked, taking a step closer. His ears perked up, presumably at the prospect. 

“I would. That is, if you think you can handle me.” Shiro smiled to show he was joking and Keith immediately took a fighting stance.

“I can handle anything.”

Shiro coughed, stuffing down the immediate flush. That was—wow. That was a lot. Shiro had realized a long time ago that he had a bit of a kink for a man who knew his own worth but the last place he needed reminding of that kink was on an alien planet facing off against someone who looked like an angel but could probably snap his neck in two. Somehow the thought thrilled him instead of terrified him.

“Alright then, lets see what you’ve got.”

The hint of a secret smile toyed at the corner of Keith’s lips. “If you need to yield at any moment simply say so.”

“I don’t plan on yielding,” Shiro declared, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. He wished now he’d worn something else but this would simply have to make do. 

“Neither do I,” Keith echoed, unsheathing his sword once more. 

It was on the tip of Shiro’s tongue to remind Keith he didn’t have a weapon when Keith flipped his sword in the air, catching the blade between his fingers and holding the hilt out towards Shiro, somehow managing not to give himself a single scratch in the process. Shiro was too impressed to speak and accepted the weapon without a word, gripping the hilt in his prosthetic and testing the weight of the sword in his hand. It’d been years since he’d sparred with a sword but his muscle memory was strong and his body easily settled into a fighting stance—the sword held aloft. 

When he looked up it was to see Keith with a new blade, smaller than the sword Shiro held. Shiro recognized it immediately—a luxite blade. The holster on his hip was not empty.

“Are you ready?” Keith asked, fingers curling around his blade. It glowed, lengthening until it was almost the same size as the sword he’d given Shiro.

“Yes,” Shiro answered, his body thrumming with adrenaline. This was going to be fun.

Shiro watched the movement of Keith’s feet as he began to inch sideways, mind racing as he tried to anticipate what Keith might do first. It’d been so long since he went one on one with someone like this and Shiro realized that he was a little out of practice, and more than that how much he’d missed it. No amount of training himself to exhaustion in the Garrison gym could compare to this. 

Then Keith lunged forward and all active thoughts fled from Shiro’s brain. 

This wasn’t the time to think. This was the time to _act_.

Keith’s eyes narrowed, blazing yellow as he spun—his blade crashing against Shiro’s with a clatter. Shiro didn’t know who was more surprised by Shiro’s perfect block, himself or Keith—his own confidence growing as Keith spun away with a soft growl. Then it was Shiro’s turn to strike, his sword swinging through the air.

Instead of looking put off by the change, Keith looked excited—his ears standing to attention and the sound of his inhale the only thing louder than the clang of their blades as Shiro slashed his sword. Shiro advanced on Keith—relishing in the vibrations of their blades came together.

Keith wasn’t just a decent fighter, he was excellent. The moment Shiro felt as if he might win was the moment everything changed.

Evading his next blow, Keith rolled sideways then sprang forward in a move so unexpected Shiro could do nothing but go on the defensive. Then he wasn’t the one swinging his sword but blocking Keith’s blows. Despite his smaller size, Keith’s strength was undeniable and Shiro tightened his grip—arms burning with the effort required to block Keith’s sword.

It occurred to Shiro then that he hadn’t actually been winning before—Keith had been studying his fighting style until he knew enough about the way Shiro moved to use it against him. Keith was _incredible_. Strong. Adaptive. A natural fighter.

Shiro was too impressed to be upset by the dawning realization that he was going to lose.

Of course, his moment of admiration turned out to be his undoing. Keith took full advantage of Shiro’s moment of distraction—spinning around with his blade held high. Shiro pivoted and then ducked, the tip of Keith’s blade grazing precariously close to his head and slashing the hair tie in his bun. Shiro’s hair cascaded down around his face, distracting him enough that he didn’t see the next blow coming.

The last thing he heard was a choked noise of surprise coming from Keith as something slammed into his chest then Shiro was flat on his back.

When he opened his eyes it was to see Keith leaning over him—long, delicate fingers brushing the hair from his face and reminding Shiro of the first time he’d met Keith.

“I am sorry,” Keith whispered.

Shiro shook his head. “You were incredible.”

If Shiro wasn’t mistaken, Keith blushed—cheeks darkening in the moonlight. “I had the advantage of fighting with my own weapons. You held your own. I am…impressed.”

It was Shiro’s turn to blush. “Thank you.”

Keith cleared his throat, moving to a standing position and holding a hand out for Shiro. Shiro clasped his fingers in Keith’s, surprised when Keith effortlessly pulled Shiro into a standing position. _Strong_. God he was so strong.

Shiro shook his head, reaching a hand back to shake the leaves and dirt from his hair. Keith’s eyes never strayed, watching him with an unyielding intensity that had Shiro blushing again. “Guess I’ll have to start keeping a spare hair tie on me, huh. Or maybe I can learn to do my hair like yours one day.”

Keith’s hand flew back to touch his braids. “My mother taught me to braid. And her mother taught her and so on. It is a skill passed between kin. For those Galra with hair, the braids are a sign of family honor. The more elaborate the braids—the tighter and more intricate—the deeper the familial bonds. It takes great skill and patience to braid and shows others that our bond as Galra and kin is unbreakable.”

“It’s beautiful too,” Shiro confessed, unable to hold the thought back.

Keith looked pleased by the confession. “I could...braid your hair. If it might please you.”

_Oh_. Shiro’s stomach filled with butterflies at the unexpected offer.

“Alright,” Shiro said, trying to squash down the strange fluttering sensation filling his chest. Keith was being kind to Shiro, showing him a bit of Galran culture because he was there was a diplomatic envoy. That was all.

“Follow me,” Keith instructed.

Shiro did, trailing behind him as Keith led him through the thick cluster of trees until they were back out on the other side of the forest—the glittering lights of New Daibazaal visible. 

“The ground is softer here,” Keith offered by way of explanation, nodding his head to the grassy clearing. He sat down, patting the thick grass in front of him.

“Oh, thank you,” Shiro said, inexplicably touched by the consideration for his comfort. 

Keith smiled softly and Shiro hurried to sit in front of him so he couldn’t see the flush of pink Shiro could feel spreading across his face. Despite knowing what was coming, Shiro still experienced a moment of surprise as Keith’s fingers brushed through his hair. Shiro choked back an embarrassing noise as Keith’s nails grazed his scalp.

“Your hair is very soft,” Keith observed. Whether he didn’t hear the noise Shiro made or was politely ignoring it Shiro wasn’t sure. He hoped it was the first. Shiro wasn’t sure if he was meant to respond to that, but then Keith began to hum softly to himself, parting Shiro’s hair. He didn’t speak again, simply turning Shiro’s head to the left or right as he worked and Shiro found his eyes drifting shut as he tilted his head back to give Keith easier access.

It was unsurprisingly soothing to have his hair played with and Shiro drifted, the sounds of the night filtering in and out of his ears as he focused on the way Keith’s dexterous fingers weaved through his hair. He’d never had anyone braid his hair—never had hair long enough to braid. Not until _after_. After the accident. After his family was gone. After he was someone new. 

He internally shook his head, trying to rid itself of the thoughts. It was easy, it turned out, to think of happier things with Keith’s fingers smoothing out the knots and pulling and twisting his hair. Easy not to think, but feel. And Shiro felt good. His body was worn and sore, but in a way that felt undeniably good. Even better was the way Keith’s experienced fingers were turning his entire body to mush. By the time Keith had tied the end of Shiro’s braid with a scrap of leather taken from his own braid, Shiro wasn’t sure his own two legs would even carry him back to his room. He felt blissed out and relaxed in a way he wasn’t at all used to.

“It is done,” Keith said, voice startling Shiro.

Shiro reached up, letting the tips of his fingers graze over the smooth braid at his scalp and down the length at his back, fingering the worn piece of leather at the end. 

“Thank you, Keith,” he whispered, turning his head to smile at Keith. “I love it.”

Keith’s ears twitched as he smiled. “I am glad it pleases you.”

“It does,” Shiro assured him, hoping Keith couldn’t tell just how much.

* * *

“The food does not please you?” Keith quired.

Shiro startled, his spoon pausing mid poke. He hadn’t realized anyone was watching him jab at his bowl of mystery stew. Kolivan and Ulaz were busy at the opposite end of the table in deep discussion about, well Shiro wasn’t sure what. He only knew it didn’t involve him. He hadn’t even noticed Keith pick up his food and move closer to sit beside him.

“No, no it’s wonderful. I love Galran cuisine,” Shiro insisted. It wasn’t a complete lie. The food was definitely an acquired taste, but Shiro had never been a picky eater and he was sure he’d get used to the strange spices and unnatural chewiness of certain foods. Maybe.

“You do not love the crak’ix.” It was a statement not a question. 

Shiro didn’t bother refuting this time, poking it with his spoon again and watching as a bubble of brown liquid popped on the surface—a strange green lump of Shiro didn’t know what rising to the surface. He barely resisted a pout.

“I enjoy the company,” Shiro said, finding himself unable to lie about the food but unwilling to offend his hosts.

“Terran food is not like Galran food.”

It was another statement, though one that was easy to agree with this time. “Human food is really diverse. We have all sorts of different cuisines from different cultures and countries. But we definitely do not have crak’ix.” He eyed the stew with no small amount of distaste, surprised when Keith laughed.

“You enjoyed the fruit of the uuvain tree, yes?” Shiro nodded. “And the yat’ols this morning?”

“Was that the porridge stuff we had for breakfast with the sweet syrupy stuff swirled in it?” Shiro asked.

“What is porridge?” 

“Oh, uh it’s a human dish made of oats. Usually its sweetened and sometimes it has milk.”

Keith hummed to himself, stirring his own bowl of stew. “And you enjoyed the homphuk yesterday that were served after dinner?”

Shiro recalled the eight cloud like pastries he’d eaten the day before. Once again, he hadn’t realized anyone else had been paying attention to him eating and he blushed at the idea of Keith watching him licking his fingers.

“I enjoyed them, yes,” he agreed, clearing his throat.

Keith appeared to be thinking, chewing on his bottom lip. “You enjoy foods that are sweet.”

“Ah, yeah I do,” Shiro laughed, scrubbing a hand across his cheek. Three days and he’d been found out already. 

Shiro expected Keith to laugh,but instead he pushed back his chair and simply walked away. Shiro didn’t bother hiding his confusion, watching Keith’s back as he left the room. Well, shit. Had he offended Keith somehow? 

Thankfully Shiro didn’t have too long alone to imagine worst case scenarios, because Keith appeared a few minutes later carrying a plate piled high with, well, he didn’t know what it was. They wiggled, reminding Shiro a bit of jello, when Keith set the overflowing platter down in front of him. It was covered in tiny squares of something white and squishy looking—filled with little lumps of something purple. It certainly wasn’t the most appealing thing Shiro had seen.

“Eat.”

Shiro forced on a smile. Right. Keith wanted him to eat. 

Unwilling to risk offending Keith again, he reached for the square on the top—resisting the urge to grimace. It was slick and cold and the absolute last thing Shiro wanted to do was stick whatever it was in his mouth. Except Keith was watching him with undisguised interest, and apparently so were Kolivan and Ulaz. They were still pretending to be deep in conversation but Shiro could see the swivel of their gaze move onto Shiro the moment Keith had returned.

Mustering all his bravery, Shiro lifted the tiny square of doom and popped the entire thing in his mouth. Prepared for the worst, Shiro hadn’t even let himself entertain a scenario where the mystery food was good. Which left him entirely unprepared for the explosion of flavors on his tongue as he chewed. Granted, the texture left a bit to be desired, but the flavor was out of this world.

Keith’s lips thinned—expression serious and intense—as he watched Shiro chew.

“It tastes like Fruity Pebbles,” Shiro extolled.

Keith’s eyebrows furrowed, his nose wrinkling up in obvious confusion. “What is a fruity pebble? Terrans eat pebbles?”

“Oh, no. We don’t eat rocks. It’s uh…it’s a cereal actually,” Shiro laughed. “I mean technically it’s usually eaten by kids but uh, I love it. It’s kind of disgustingly sweet and full of food dye and—you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

“No,” Keith agreed shaking his head. “Is a pebble of fruit a good thing?”

“It’s a very good thing,” Shiro assured him, grabbing another square and popping it in his mouth. The texture was less strange the second time around, the flavor just as good.

“Good.” Keith ducked his head. “I am happy to please you.” 

Shiro grinned, ignoring the flush of pleasure Keith’s words invoked. It was sweet, Shiro thought, how seriously Keith was taking his diplomatic duties. And that was all it was. Something Shiro would do well to remember.

* * *

The following morning, Shiro was barely dressed and stumbling out of his room late—his sense of time completely warped on the new planet—when Ulaz appeared out of nowhere. He smiled, showing another purple fruit which Shiro had yet to learn the name of under Shiro’s nose and offering him a tour of New Daibazaal instead of their previously agreed upon meeting. 

Shiro agreed easily, both because he was eager not to offend and because he was curious about the city. The most he’d been able to explore was his room—picking up on the Galra’s affinity for mixing high technology with natural items like wood and shell. The unexpected designs were as beautiful and Shiro was eager to see more.

To his credit, Shiro even managed to wait a full twenty-three minutes into the tour before inquiring about the whereabouts of Keith—and Kolivan so as not to look suspicious. Ulaz confessed, in a clipped tone, that both of them had been part of an early morning hunting expedition and had been delayed for an undetermined amount of time. Curiosity clung to his mouth but he ignored it, noticing Ulaz’s thinned lips and furrowed eyebrows. Shiro knew better than to press for details. At the very least, he’d gotten enough information to explain why he was being offered on a leisurely tour of the city instead of going over the details of the treaty.

The sights and sounds of New Daibazaal were captivating and for a little while, Shiro forgot about his responsibilities or the details surrounding his tour and allowed himself to simply revel in the new experience like a tourist. It was wonderful.

At least, until it wasn’t.

Though he would never admit as much out loud, Ulaz was possibly the worst tour guide Shiro had ever had. While he was greatly impressed by the creativity and unique building techniques, his eyes rolled into the back of his head in boredom after being shown what appeared to him to be the exact same style home at least three dozen times. Ulaz was kind, but his voice was monotone and he had a habit of repeating himself. 

By the third hour of his tour, Shiro found himself peeking out of every window hoping to catch sight of a familiar head of dark hair. 

By the fourth hour he’d taken to inventing humorous back stories for every Galra he passed, not unlike the awful soap operas his grandmother used to watch.

By the fifth hour he flat out caved and asked if Kolivan and Keith were alright after catching Ulaz frowning at his holopad three times in the last ten minutes alone. Ulaz grunted, changing the subject and offering Shiro the chance to see the building plans for the city. Shiro naturally agreed and spent the next five hours in the archive beneath the library struggling not to fall asleep.

By the time Ulaz ended the tour, the second moon had risen—casting its soft yellow glow upon the city. Shiro followed the uneven pathway back towards his own room, dragging his feet in the dirt. He was exhausted and disappointed—any hopes of seeing Keith again firmly squashed—and the only thing that ached more than his feet was his head. Shiro was desperate to kick off his boots and let down his hair. Maybe even go wild and sneak one of the emergency protein bars from his bag and pretend it was a candy bar.

Fuck it, Shiro thought, pausing in the middle of the empty street. There was no one else around and he was so close to his room anyway. Who was gonna notice if he took down his hair or undid a few buttons? So he did just that, undoing just the top few buttons of his jacket and audibly sighing in relief as the cool night air tickled his bare throat. It felt so good that he undid a few more buttons. He hated how constricting the Garrison uniforms were—especially stretched too tight across his chest—and how overheated he got when he had to wear them all day. He much preferred the looser style uniform he was allowed to wear for teaching, or even more a plain t-shirt and his favorite pair of thin grey sweats he could wear on his days off. 

He took a cursory glance around him to ensure he was still alone before undoing the remaining few buttons and shrugging the jacket off completely, leaving him standing in the moonlight wearing only the thin white tank top he also put on beneath his uniform. Immediately, some of Shiro's weariness dissipated. Deciding he’d gone pretty far already, he reached up and pulled his hair out of it’s tight bun, letting it fall down around his face. He exhaled a shuddering breath, scrubbing his fingers against his scalp and sighing in relief. 

With a renewed sense of energy, Shiro threw his jacket over his shoulder and felt a smile pull at his lips as he continued on his way to his room, eyes turned up towards the double moons in the sky. Shiro was distracted by the unfamiliar night sky he didn’t even notice the figure crouching before his door. At least not until he was practically tripping over him.

“Shit, sorry,” Shiro yelled.

“It is I who must apologize,” the Galra spoke. His head was bowed and he remained on his knees, but Shiro would’ve recognized the intricate braids and smooth voice anywhere.

“_Keith_.”

Keith lifted his head, eyes roaming up and over Shiro’s body with unflinching intensity. Shiro’s body flushed with embarrassment at Keith’s intense observation.

“Uh, sorry. About this. I uh—” he gestured down at his body, awkwardly trying to pull on his jacket. “I was hot.” 

He figured that was a better explanation than saying he found Garrison uniforms physically restricting.

Keith’s gaze was unwavering as he rose to stand. “I do not mind.”

“Good, that’s uh—good,” Shiro mumbled, shoving his arms back into his jacket. He didn’t bother trying to do it up, too flustered to be able to match the button with the correct hole. “What are you doing here?”

“I was leaving this,” Keith said quietly, cheeks darkening to a deep plum as he held out his hands. Clutched in them was the most beautiful bouquet of flowers Shiro had ever seen.

Shiro was surprised he hadn’t noticed the impressive bouquet of flowers at first, but he’d obviously been too distracted by his own embarrassment at being caught in a state of undress.

“Is that for me?” Shiro inquired, trying to understand why Keith would be attempting to leave flowers at his doorstep in secret. Perhaps the gesture had a different meaning to the Galra. He didn’t recall reading anything about flowers in his research, but then again the Garrison’s information regarding cultural norms had been pathetically lacking. 

“It is,” Keith affirmed, holding the bouquet out for Shiro. 

“They’re beautiful,” Shiro whispered, taking the flowers with no small amount of surprise or pleasure. The flowers were unlike any Shiro had ever seen, a mix of whites and blues, some with soft little petals and one particularly large one that was almost sparkling in the moonlight. Shiro lifted them to his face and inhaled slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as the sweet aroma filled his nose. 

When he opened his again a few seconds later, Keith was watching him with a curious expression. “Does it please you?”

“It pleases me,” Shiro confirmed, already getting used to Keith’s endearing way of phrasing things.

“I am glad. I picked them at the top of Mount Vusnain. They only bloom on the nights of a double full moon.” He pointed to the highest peak in the distance and Shiro did his best to mask his surprise. That had to have been where Keith and Kolivan were hunting earlier. Perhaps Keith had picked the flowers as an apology for missing their meeting after their hunting expedition went long. 

“Thank you, Keith.”

Keith offered a slight bow of his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You are most welcome, Shiro.”

Shiro had so many questions but he was too afraid to voice them and risk inadvertently offending Keith, so he bit his tongue and took the flowers at face value—as a gesture of diplomatic friendliness.

* * *

“You are settling in well,” Ulaz said, hands clasped behind his back as he took several long strides to catch up with Shiro—falling into step beside him.

“I like to think so,” Shiro agreed, pleased by Ulaz’s words. 

It’d been over a week since his arrival, and each day had passed quicker than the one before. He was growing to love the sights and sounds of New Daibazaal. Most days the meetings themselves were often tedious—Shiro’s least favorite thing in the world was paperwork—he enjoyed the exchange of cultural knowledge and the goodwill being fostered between their people. 

What he enjoyed most, however, was what came _after_ the meetings—time with Keith. 

Keith was exceedingly polite, always lingering in the meeting rooms waiting for Shiro to finish up his paperwork and offering to walk him back to his room. Shiro assumed it was because Keith didn’t want him to get lost. Though the winding pathways of New Daibazaal were almost maze-like, Shiro had memorized the route to his own rooms on the very first day, but he refrained from mentioning that to Keith. He felt a little guilty for monopolizing Keith’s time but enjoyed listening to Keith’s stories—and if Shiro was lucky a bit of laughter—too much to risk losing that time. 

“And are you enjoying New Daibazaal?” Ulaz quired. “Is it perhaps the kind of place a man like yourself might one day enjoy making his home?”

Shiro licked his lips, still unused to the reverence with which the Blades seemed to have for him. Back on Earth, his stint as Champion was a dirty secret he wasn’t supposed to speak of—especially not with the coalition trying to forge a peace treaty with the Blade of Marmora. No one wanted to be reminded of the cruelty of the Empire, especially not at the Garrison when all his superiors wanted to do was paint the Galra as friendly oversized purple cat-like aliens rather than go through the work of explaining the nuances of Galran culture. 

Shiro was of the opinion that erasing the ugly parts of history—especially his own—wasn’t going to make the future better for anyone, but people rarely asked Shiro what he thought. Well, those on Earth anyway. The Blades asked often, repeatedly seeking Shiro’s expertise or opinion. It was nice to feel valued, to see his abilities truly put to use.

Shiro supposed that Ulaz’s question was less about Shiro specifically and more about the people of Earth and how they viewed the Galra. 

“It is,” Shiro agreed, eager to reassure Ulaz that his people and his home were valued. If Shiro could actually see himself living in New Daizbaal, well that was of little consequence. He knew his time there was only meant to be temporary.

“I am glad to hear it, Captain Shirogane. Now I must take my leave, but I do believe Keith was looking for you.”

Shiro smiled, unable to squash down the flutters in his chest. “Thank you.”

* * *

“I feel like I missed an important memo,” Shiro said, hand still on the doorknob as he stared at the very empty meeting room. Well, almost empty.

According to his watch he was only four minutes late, but Ulaz and Kolivan were noticeably absent from their regular seats. It was only Keith who stood in the middle of the room, leaning back against the large table. Unlike his usual attire of the last week—tight pants and loose tunics—today’s outfit was drastically different. He was wearing something similar to what he’d had on when he’d found Shiro asleep in his ship—a skin tight body suit that clung to Keith’s long legs and sinuous muscles. The suit looked practically painted on, the deep purple and black complementing the hue of his skin and dark hair. The knife he usually wore at his hip was on his back today—secured by an impressive weave of leather straps that criss crossed across his chest and back. That wasn’t the only thing different either. Keith’s long hair, always braided but usually hanging long, was pulled up tightly with an intricate set of braids along his scalp all leading to one long viking braid hanging down his back.

Keith looked as dangerous as he did handsome. It was a lethal combination, and Shiro didn’t think he’d ever appreciated anyone’s beauty more.

“What is a memo?” Keith asked as he pushed away from the table—blissful unaware of Shiro’s inappropriate thoughts.

“It’s uh, an important message,” Shiro said, dropping his hand from the doorknob and finally walking into the room. “It’s an Earth saying. It means I feel like I missed out on some important information.”

“Terrans have many ways of saying something,” Keith observed, lips pursed in an adorable frown. “It is…it is confusing. Why do not just say what you mean?”

“Sorry,” Shiro laughed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Humans are…yeah we can be difficult. We want people to know how we feel all the time, but we often don’t say exactly what we mean. It’s easier to use expressions and turns of phrases so that we don’t have to take emotional responsibility for the way we feel. Most of the time we just hope other people will know.”

This only served to confuse Keith more, his frown turning into a full-fledged pout. “How can someone know how you feel or what you want if you do not say?”

Shiro hesitated. “I suppose we just…hope. We hope people know what we want and need. Humans do it with a lot of things, not just love. We hope for the best in all situations. Well, most of us anyway.”

“And does it work?” Keith asked, unmistakably curious.

Shiro thought back to his time in the arena—to the dark days when the only thing that had got him from one day to the next was hope. Unwavering hope. “Sometimes.”

Keith still looked skeptical but nodded his head, making a small bit of hair that had escaped his braid fall into his eyes. Shiro had to repress the urge to cross the room and push it back behind his ear. He wondered if his ears were as soft as they looked.

“So, uh…where are Kolivan and Ulaz?” he abruptly asked, trying to distract himself from his wayward thoughts before they showed on his face and made Keith uncomfortable. “I thought we had a meeting this morning. Unless I was mistaken.”

“You were not mistaken. They were unexpectedly needed on the outskirts of the city to help resolve a small scuffle between landowners. They will be unable to make the meeting and have requested a postponement until tomorrow. Which leaves only me.” He held out his hands, the smallest bow to his head. Shiro wished he had a clue what that meant. “I hope this is not unsatisfactory.”

“Not at all,” he assured Keith. “Your presence is always enjoyable. I was just surprised was all. But it’s a good surprise. A really good surprise actually. It’ll be nice to spend more time with just you. Not that, uh, I wanted there to be land scuffles or for Ulaz and Kolivan to be gone. They’re very nice too and uh..yeah.” Shiro stopped talking, digging his finger under his collar and wondering why he was incapable of speaking like a normal human whenever Keith was around. 

The corner of Keith’s lips turned up as if Shiro’s blabbering amused him. “I thought perhaps I could take you on a little tour.”

“Ulaz already gave a tour. A very _long_ tour,” Shiro said with perhaps a bit too much honestly.

Keith huffed out a laugh. “Ulaz is very fond of buildings. I was hoping to take you somewhere a little _different_.”

“What kind of different?” Shiro asked.

Keith took a step forward, then another, his eyes on Shiro as he closed the distance between them. “It is a surprise. Do you trust me?”

Shiro didn’t hesitate to answer. “Yes.”

* * *

Shiro wasn’t about to admit it, but when Keith had said _different_, a part of him had feared he simply meant a different building or part of the city. He had been fully prepared for another boring tour of the city, bolstered only by the knowledge that the tour would at least be made infinitely better by Keith’s presence.

Instead, there was _this_.

“Do you like it?” Keith inquired. His face was turned out towards the water but Shiro could tell Keith was watching him out of the corner of his eye, waiting for his reaction.

Like didn’t begin to cover how Shiro felt about the sight before him. A beach. Keith had taken him to a beach.

Or at least as close to the beach as Shiro could possibly get on an alien planet with a completely different biodiversity than Earth. Instead of the dark blue or teal water Shiro was used to seeing—well at least in photographs, he’d never actually been to the beach—the water here was an iridescent shade of pink. The alien sea stretched as far as the eye could see, water cresting in the distance and creating little pools of white foam where the wind whipped at the surface. Up close the water was less tumultuous, lapping gently at the pebbled shore beneath his boots.

The winding, narrow pathway Keith had led him through down the craggy cliff side was no longer visible from their vantage point so close to the shoreline. Not even the towering turrets of New Daibazaal were visible any longer, hidden behind the sprawling cliffs behind them. 

The sky was devoid of clouds and instead was crystal clear, the unique solar system making the constellations there visible even during the daylight. It was the most breathtaking sight Shiro had ever experienced in his entire life. At least until he turned his head to catch sight of Keith—his own eyes turned toward the sea and the wind blowing wisps of hair across his face. His cheeks were a deep purple—beginning to chap from the wind—and his expression was relaxed. There was a hidden smile on his face, as if he knew where he’d taken Shiro was nothing short of remarkable and he was waiting for confirmation. He looked delighted, and standing there with his braid billowing behind him and his eyes turned on the horizon, Shiro felt his heart skip a beat.

After the war, Shiro had grown used to his constant sense of displacement. Not feeling like he belonged felt like a permanent state of being for him now. He’d felt as if he were always searching for something more, or _someone_. Coming to New Daibazaal—finding Keith—was like discovering a safe haven. Shiro felt whole in ways he hadn’t believed he ever would again.

“It’s perfect,” Shiro whispered, cheeks warming when Keith turned to smile at him with undisguised pride. He could only hope Keith thought he meant the water.

“I am pleased you enjoy it. This is my favorite place in all of New Daizbaal. I have traveled to many universes in my life but never found a place as special as this. I have—I have never brought another here.”

“Oh, I’m honored you would show me then,” Shiro breathed, unsure why Keith would reveal something so private to him. He supposed he was anxious to show off the beauty of his homeland. Shiro imagined Keith on Earth, the places he would want to show him—the things he’d want him to experience. He imagined taking Keith to the rundown diner downtown that was open 24 hours and served the best chili fries. He thought about offering his helmet to Keith and taking him out on a joyride on the back of his hoverbike to see the stars way out far where the lights of the city and the Garrison faded away. He thought of introducing Keith to Skittles and wondered if he liked sweets.

“You honor me by accompanying me,” Keith said, breaking Shiro’s daydream. “It is a sign of high trust and I do not take it lightly.”

Shiro flushed, reminding himself for the umpteenth time that Keith was just being friendly, that it was his job as one of the Blade delegates to ensure Shiro had a nice stay and returned to Earth with a positive experience to share. Despite knowing this logically, Shiro still felt compelled to share, since Keith had shared something with him.

“We have oceans on Earth. Though they’re not quite like this. Or at least I don’t think so. To be honest I’ve never actually been to the beach back on Earth either. I always wanted to go but…well, I was sickly as a child and my parents were afraid the salt air and water might make me worse so they never took me no matter how much I begged.” At Keith’s worried frown Shiro elaborated. “I’m fine now. The disease is…it’s gone now. It’s been gone for awhile.” He rubbed absentmindedly at his prosthetic, eyes on his feet—too afraid to see if Keith’s eyes might widen with understanding or fill with pity. He was sure as a Blade member there was a possibility that he’d been privy to Shiro’s time in captivity and the experimentation Haggar had done, but it was one thing to suspect others knew his shame and grief and another thing to know it for certain. 

“You are very strong,” Keith said, voice dripping with so much unexpected conviction Shiro was helpless not to lift his gaze to meet Keith’s. There was no pity in his eyes, only a kind of deep understanding that could come from someone else who had lived through war. Keith was, whatever else he might appear now—a warrior at heart. All the Blades were. 

It was comforting to know that Shiro didn’t have to distort his truths to appease someone else’s sensibilities. He didn’t need to hide with Keith, or at least not his past. His attraction to the Galra might be something he needed to squash down, but at the very least he had found a friend.

“So are you,” Shiro echoed. Keith inhaled sharply, almost as if surprised by Shiro’s words. He ducked his head, looking almost bashful at the accolades

Shiro inhaled sharply, kicking the pebbles beneath his feet and watching them scatter and splash into the water.

Beside him, Keith remained silent but steadfast. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward, and for once Shiro didn’t feel the need to fill it with inane chatter. Instead, it was comfortable. Companionable. For the first time in recent memory, Shiro didn’t feel quite so alone.

For a long time they simply stood there side by side, his heartbeat slowing to match the cadence of the crashing waves. 

“Would it please you to take a swim?” Keith asked, catching Shiro by surprise with the unexpected question.

“I don’t know how to swim,” he answered, unsure why he felt compelled to be so honest with Keith. He’d never told anyone that. Somehow people seemed to look at his size and assume he could do anything—especially physical— and Shiro usually took great pains to live up to the image the world at large seemed to have of him. It was easier—at least for everyone else.

“I can teach you,” Keith told him without missing a beat, reaching for the clip on his chest and beginning to unfasten the knife holster. 

Shiro’s voice caught in his throat. “We, uh, we don’t have bathing suits.”

“What are bathing suits?” Keith asked, eyes ripe with curiosity as he dropped his leather holster to the ground. Then to Shiro’s surprise, Keith reached over his own shoulder and tugged at a hidden zipper in the back of his suit, pulling down the left side and revealing a pale purple shoulder and the sharp line of a clavicle.

Shiro very nearly forgot to breathe as he realized exactly what was happening.

“Humans wear them to swim,” he croaked.

“Does a swimming suit repel water?” he asked, pausing in his undress to wait for the answer.

“Uh, no.” Shiro answered, wondering if Keith had on the alien version of boxers beneath his outfit. Judging by the tightness and lack of telltale underwear lines, he very much suspected the answer was going to be no. He also wasn’t sure he was going to be able to cope with that potential reality.

“Then why do you wear a suit for swimming?” Keith asked, unaware of Shiro’s building panic as Keith resumed his previous action and peeled the skintight suit down his left arm. “That does not make any sense.”

“It’s to uh…cover our um,” he paused wondered if there was a diplomatically appropriate way to say it. “Our private areas.”

Keith paused mid undress to give Shiro a curious look. “Terrans have genitals, yes? Not unlike the Galra. Is this not true?”

Shiro cleared his throat, nearly choking on his own saliva. “Yup. That’s…yes. I have one. A cock. I mean genital. I mean…shit. Yes.”

Keith’s ears twitched as he reached for the other shoulder. “If we all have then them why must you cover them up? Unless, ah I fear I see.”

“See what?” Shiro asked, embarrassment at war with his curiosity.

“You are embarrassed. It is quite alright. The Galra are naturally well endowed. I am sure your human genitals are perfectly acceptable as well.” 

Shiro balked. Was Keith implying he had a small dick? Keith’s face remained expressionless, giving Shiro no indication if he was serious or not. Was Keith teasing him? Did the Galra even know how to tease?

Before Shiro could answer Keith laughed, the sound deep and rich as it echoed through the cove. Oh. Keith was _teasing_ him.

Shiro wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or hide. He settled for kicking some pebbles at Keith. “Oh be quiet.”

“Your face.” Keith’s grin widened and Shiro found he didn’t mind his embarrassment quite so much if it earned him one of Keith’s rare smiles. He also rather liked the glimpse of Keith’s sense of humor. “Do all Terrans blush so easily?” Keith asked with a soft laugh, pulling his right arm out of his sleeve and pushing the suit down so it sat impossibly low on his impossibly tiny waist. 

Yeah, Shiro was going to die alright.

“I’m not blushing,” Shiro insisted, despite the warmth in his cheeks that would suggest otherwise. “Besides, I wasn’t sure if you were joking or not. For a minute there I thought you were serious about, well— ” he waved his hands in the air in what he hoped was a non-crude gesture down at their dicks.

Keith’s ears did the same little twitch as before as he hooked his thumbs into the suit at his hips and shoved it further down his hips. “I was serious.”

Shiro’s mouth went dry and he found himself suddenly incapable of speech. Naked. Keith was getting naked and yeah Galra were well endowed indeed, he though, watching with no small amount of fascination as Keith’s purple tinted dick sprung free from his clothing. It was nearly as long as Shiro’s, but substantially thicker and the sides were covered in little raised nubs. It made Shiro’s pants feel two sizes too small and his mouth water. Shit.

Without an ounce of hesitation Keith continued to undress, leaving his suit in a pile on the rocks with his boots and holster until he was standing on the shoreline completely nude. Shiro knew it was rude to stare but he could do nothing else, eyes roaming up Keith’s long, long legs and over the swell of his pert ass and the curve of his spine. His entire body screamed _strength_—arms and stomach taut with lithe muscles, and his long braid cascading down his back.

Beautiful. He was absolutely beautiful.

It almost seemed like Keith was putting his body on display, as if he _wanted_ Shiro to look. His stance was wide, body turned towards Shiro and his shoulders pushed back as he locked eyes with him. Shiro had to forcefully remind himself that Keith wasn’t actually displaying his body for Shiro. The Galra were obviously less bashful about nakedness than most humans were, that was all.

“Your turn,” Keith announced, as if they were playing a game of poker and not stripping on a secluded alien beach. 

Shiro hesitated, hands on the buttons of his jacket. He wasn’t blind to the appeal his physique held. His body was strong too, built that way out of necessity. A strong body was harder to break. But neither was he a stranger to the way some of his past lovers had avoided his scars or prosthetic. 

Shiro knew he was easier to look at with the lights off or the clothes on.

Then again Keith wasn’t a lover, no matter what fanciful ideas Shiro privately entertained. He was a diplomatic partner and friend. 

“Is everything alright?” Keith asked, bare feet crunching on the pebbles as he moved towards Shiro.

Shiro swallowed around the lump in his throat. _Friend_. Keith was a friend. He was not going to laugh at Shiro or flinch at his scars. At least, he didn’t think so.

“I’m good,” Shiro answered in a low voice, hoping the small tremble of his fingers didn’t show as he popped the first button through the hole. He didn’t let himself look at Keith as he undressed, removing his jacket and folding it before laying it on the pebbles. His tank top went next. Then his boots and pants, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. 

It was strange to be standing outside naked, or almost naked. It occurred to Shiro then that he’d never done it, at least not since he returned the arena and war a different man than he’d left. There was something freeing about letting his scars be seen in the harsh light of day. 

The soft brush of fingers across his ribs distracted Shiro and before he could finish undressing Keith was in his personal space—hands caressing Shiro’s naked flesh.

“What is this?” he asked, voice pitched with unmistakable curiosity.

“It’s, oh—” Shiro breathed, stomach fluttering beneath Keith’s touch. He’d been so concerned about his own scars he hadn’t even stopped to think what Keith might think of his tattoos. That tattoo was his largest, covering the left half of his ribcage with the exact formation of constellations he’d seen seconds before his capture by Zarkon. “It’s a tattoo.”

“And do all humans mark their body this way?” Keith asked, hands roaming up Shiro’s ribcage and around to his back to the even larger tattoo there—a map of the night sky Shiro used to watch from inside his cell. He’d never shown his tattoos to anyone, couldn’t explain why he’d wanted to permanently mark his skin with reminders of his life before and during his captivity. It was hard to explain to other people that the reminder of what he’d been through—a mark on his body that he chose—made him feel powerful instead of weak.

It should have been strange to bare this part of himself to Keith when he hardly knew him, but instead it felt inexplicably right. Keith made Shiro laugh, made him feel safe and valued. Most of all, he made him happy.

So unbelievably happy. 

Shiro’s eyes fluttered closed as Keith’s fingers traced across the stars, mapping the lines of constellations on his body. His touch was featherlight and sent a chill coursing through Shiro. The tips of Keith’s fingers were smooth as velvet, the touch unexpectedly gentle. Shiro choked back a sob, trying to recall the last time anyone had touched him like this. 

Keith was curious, he knew. Shiro’s tattoos and body were so different than Keith’s own skin—so pretty and unmarred. It was natural for him to be curious about Shiro’s body. It didn’t necessarily mean anything.

With his eyes closed, Keith’s touch felt almost reverent—almost like a lover’s.

“This is pretty,” Keith whispered, moving to the patch of thorny vines tattooed over the gnarled skin where his human flesh met his prosthetic. A shudder coursed through Shiro’s body at the touch. No one—not even his past lovers—had touched him there. It was a spot people avoided. Avoided touching. Avoided looking at. Shiro knew it was ugly. The last person to touch the ugly skin there had been the tattoo artist and that had been clinical and full of pain. But at least when they’d been done, Shiro had a sleeve of wildflowers and thorns adorning the bicep. At least the marks on his body then had been of his own choosing.

Guilt and shame welled up in Shiro as Keith’s breath ghosted over the skin and Shiro’s dick swelled to attention.

Wrong. This was all wrong. 

Keith was a friend and ally and Shiro was, once again, wanting more than he was supposed to.

“I have to go,” Shiro blurted out, grabbing his clothes from the ground and taking off at a run.

* * *

The knock at the door wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise was that it took so long to come.

Shiro had more than half expected Keith to chase after him after his abrupt disappearance, but he hadn’t. Then next thing he’d expected was for Keith to turn up banging on his door demanding an explanation for Shiro’s inappropriate behavior— maybe even letting him know the Blades had called off the peace talks and his first and only diplomatic mission had been an epic failure.

Instead the knock that finally came at the door after an hour of agonizing anxiety was tentative, the voice that followed even more so. 

“_Shiro._”

Without a bit of hesitation Shiro found his feet moving across the floor, hand on the knob as he opened the door, unable to ignore the tremor in Keith’s voice. He was a man and he would deal with whatever consequences of his one-sided feelings.

“Keith.”

Keith startled, eyes widening. His ears were nearly flat against his hair—his usually pristine braids in disarray and his face awash in unmasked confusion. Shiro’s heart clenched painfully imagining the awkwardness he must have caused Keith. 

“Keith, I am so sorry.”

“I spoke to Ulaz and Kolivan after you left,” Keith announced, making Shiro’s heart drop. Of course Keith would’ve gone to them. It made perfect sense.

“Of course,” Shiro said solemnly, dropping his eyes to the ground. “I will contact Iverson myself in the morning and let him know. I plan to take full responsibility for my inappropriate actions and their resulting effect on the mission.”

“I fear my words are not saying what I wish them to.” Keith’s face took on a pinched expression, chest rising as he inhaled a deep breath. “You misunderstand me, Shiro. I believe you have been misunderstanding me all along. Ulaz informed me that Terrans do not choose a mate the way Galra do. I did not realize.”

_Mates._ Shiro’s head spun. Keith couldn’t possibly mean what Shiro thought he meant.

“I don’t understand,” Shiro whispered.

“May I come inside please,” Keith asked, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. It was only then that Shiro realized Keith was still standing outside.

“May you—_yes_. Yes.” Shiro jumped back from the door. Keith gave him a curt nod of the head as he came inside, shutting the door behind him before turning his attention back on Shiro.

“Did you know that Galra mate for life?” Keith asked.

Shiro shook his head. “No.”

There hadn’t been a single mention of _that_ in any of the limited information he’d been able to get his hands on before leaving Earth. And if there’d been any whispers of it during his time in the Arena, well Shiro’d had bigger concerns than than the interpersonal details of his captors.

“It is a fact instilled in us at birth,” Keith explained. “As children we learn to understand the signs. One of the first things a Galra is taught is how to recognize their Sil’ad.”

“And what is that exactly?” Shiro asked, afraid to interrupt but desperate not to misunderstand this time. 

“It is…hard to explain. There is no Terran word to explain it. Mate comes the closest but even that does not explain everything they are. I believe sometimes Terrans even call them soulmates. But it is more than that too. The Sil’ad is…the one who completes us. Not all Galra meet their Sil’ad. Especially not since the war. So many of my people were lost. But for those of us lucky enough to meet ours it is,” Keith paused, inhaling slowly. “It is the greatest gift to meet the one who is your equal in every way—to know that you have met the one you are meant for. There is no greater honor than knowing you have found your Sil’ad.”

Shiro’s heart raced, beating against his rib cage so hard he felt certain Keith could hear it.

“And have you met your Sil’ad?” The word felt foreign on his tongue. He knew he’d butchered the pronunciation but Keith smiled anyway.

“I met him many moons ago,” Keith whispered, taking a step closer to Shiro. “He was fighting for his life, trapped in the clutches of the Empire. I did everything I could to help set him free but it took me nearly two deca-phoeb to find him again.”

Memories long forgotten resurfaced—his last night in captivity, an unknown ally slipping a key under his cell door. There’d been an explosion, then a chance for Shiro to break free and he’d never looked back, even if he’d wondered who had helped him and. He’d long suspected one of the Galra—maybe even a Blade—had been behind his escape, but he’d never been able to prove it.

“_Keith_, you saved me,” he choked, stumbling forward. Keith was there, a steadying hand on his elbow.

“You would have done the same for me.” Keith whispered.

“Wait, so is that why I was requested?” Shiro asked.

Keith’s cheeks darkened in an attractive flush. “Oh, I—yes. I requested you specifically. I hope you are not angry.”

“I’m not angry,” Shiro assured him, drinking in the sight of Keith’s pretty face now that he was truly allowed to. He could hardly believe that Keith—strong and fierce and beautiful—wanted _him_. “Wait so that means that all this time, you were—”

“Trying to court you,” Keith finished, ears twitching as the corner of Keith’s mouth turned up in a small smile.

Shiro exhaled a shaky breath. “I thought you were just being nice.”

Keith snorted. “I am not as nice as you seem to think.”

Shiro felt like a fool. The flowers. The sweets. The beach. The signs had been there all along and he’d missed every single one of them.

“So you like me,” Shiro voiced, almost unable to believe it.

“Before, I believed that you wished to take things slowly. Maybe humans do not hold hands and kiss the way Galra do, I thought. I believed that my intentions were clear, but I understand now that Terrans do not have Sil’ad and this was not true. So let me be clear. I like you very much. In a way that is not, how do humans say—platonic. I want you. I want you to be mine. You are the one meant for me and I would very much like to be the one worthy of loving you. That is, if you will have me.” He placed his palm over Shiro’s heart. “Will you have me, Shiro?”

Shiro swallowed down the lump forming in his throat as a rush of emotions assaulted him. 

Keith wanted him.

_Keith wanted him_.

“I understand if you would like time to decide,” Keith whispered, mistaking Shiro’s silence and dropping his hand. “Perhaps this is too much. I have been waiting for my whole life to meet you but for you this is new. If you need more time to—”

Shiro shook his head, words failing him.

He didn’t need time. He’d never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

Back on Earth he’d spent so long assuming that the empty feeling in his heart was his new normal—assuming that he’d just come back from the war a little broken. Then he’d come to New Daibazaal—met Keith—and everything felt different. Felt right.

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro whispered, reaching out to cup the side of Keith’s face—thumbs stroking over the arch of his cheekbone— as he angled his head down and pressed his lips against Keith’s in the briefest of kisses before pulling back. “I want you.”

The sound that came from Keith was nothing short of wild as his hands flew out to fist in Shiro’s tank top. He rose onto his tiptoes, yanking Shiro forward to kiss him again. For a moment Shiro expected the kiss to be as desperate, but Keith was gentle as his hands slipped out of Shiro’s shirt to twine around his neck. Then it was Shiro’s turn to let out a whimper as Keith’s nails grazed along his undercut as his lips moved against Shiro’s.

It was so good and not just because it’d been too long since Shiro had kissed anyone, but because it was Keith. 

Just as Shiro was about to deepen the kiss, Keith jumped back—hands dropping to his sides and his ears flattening against his head.

“I am sorry.”

Shiro blinked in confusion, already missing the warmth of Keith’s body so close to his.

“Wait, why are you sorry?”

“I promised Ulaz that I would take things slow so as not to overwhelm or offend you. I got carried away.”

“I liked it,” Shiro said softly. He reached out, letting the tips of his fingers brush across the back of Keith’s knuckles. “For the record you can get carried away with me any time.”

Keith’s ears perked up. “You wish for me to get carried away?”

Shiro’s stomach fluttered and his dick twitched as he imagined Keith truly getting carried away. He imagined Keith’s capable hands skimming down the lines of Shiro’s body, imagined seeing all of Keith again. “Yes.”

That was apparently all the permission Keith needed because not a second later he surged forward, body crashing into Shiro’s as he kissed him again. It lacked the gentleness of their previous kiss—some of the finesse lacking as Keith crowded every inch of his body into Shiro’s space. Shiro didn’t mind one bit, relishing in the way it felt to have Keith’s strength urging him backwards to the bed as Keith’s eager hands roamed over Shiro’s stomach.

It wasn’t until the back of Shiro’s knees hit the bed and Keith’s fingers were slipping beneath the hem of Shiro’s shirt that it occurred to Shiro that if he got to see Keith naked then Keith would see _him_.

Sensing Shiro’s hesitation, Keith broke the kiss— pulling back just enough to look up into Shiro’s eyes. “Do you wish to revoke consent?”

“No,” Shiro answered immediately. “It’s uh…it’s stupid. It’s just—” but he paused unsure how to explain it.

“Nothing about you is stupid.”

Shiro licked his lips, trying to squash the nerves suddenly fluttering in his chest. This was just Keith. He knew he’d already seen Shiro almost naked on the beach but that’d been different.

“I just—” Shiro inhaled a deep breath through his nose. “I want to please you.”

Keith’s nose wrinkled up adorably. “Your mere existence pleases me, Shiro. You are perfect.”

Shiro’s cheeks warmed at the praise, even if he didn’t quite believe it. Almost unconsciously, he reached up and rubbed his fingers over the scarred skin where the top of his prosthetic met flesh and bone. The prosthetic itself was beautiful, the scars he bore as a result not so much. He had so many scars.

“_Oh_,” Keith breathed, eyes widening. 

Shiro averted his gaze, inexplicably filled with shame.

“You said before that you trust me. Do you still?” Keith asked, voice so gentle it made something inside of Shiro break. The fingers on his cheek that followed were just as tender.

“Of course I do,” Shiro whispered.

“Then let me show you.”

“Show me what?” Shiro asked, rubbing his cheek into the palm of Keith’s hand.

“Show you how beautiful I think you are.” Keith’s thumb swept over Shiro’s bottom lip. “So beautiful.”

Shiro was helpless to disagree. “Okay.”

Keith rose onto tiptoes to rest his forehead against Shiro’s. “You are my Sil’ad, Shiro. Let me show you how I take care of what is mine.”

_Oh._

Shiro’s body flushed with warmth, the offer unexpectedly arousing. Shiro wasn’t used to letting other people take care of him, in fact he usually rebuked any offers that came even close. Yet when the offer came from Keith, it filled Shiro with a longing for things he’d never allowed himself to admit he wanted.

“Yes.”

Shiro could only assume his own eagerness was obvious if the slow smile that spread across Keith’s face was any indication.

“Does it please you to know how much I want you?” Keith asked, reaching for the hem of Shiro’s shirt.

Shiro nodded, brain refusing to speak.

“Good. It pleases me too. Everything about you pleases me,” Keith said in a tone that left no room for Shiro to question the truth of his words. 

Keith’s hands were confident as they stripped Shiro of his shirt, hands roaming over Shiro’s chest. Shiro let his eyes shut, focusing on the sensation of smooth fingertips grazing across his tattoo and then up over his collarbone. Keith said nothing, letting his actions speak for themselves as he lowered Shiro down onto the bed and continued to undress him, grinning as he tugged down Shiro’s boxers and sweats then tossing them carelessly to the floor.

He expected Keith to return to his previous ministrations but instead Keith simply hovered over him—_looking_. 

Shiro barely resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut under the intensity of Keith’s gaze as Keith continued to look without touching. Keith was looking at him, really looking, in a way that no one had before. His gaze focused and intense as if Shiro were something precious that Keith wished to commit to memory. 

Shiro wiggled his toes, stomach squirming as Keith continued to stare.

“So beautiful,” Keith murmured and Shiro was surprised to feel his cock harden even further, leaking against his hip. “Oh, you like that,” Keith marveled, a grin playing at the corner of his lips as he dropped his hand to Shiro’s leg. The tips of his nails dug into the flesh of Shiro’s thigh and Shiro shuddered. “You like when I tell you how good you look.”

“I like you.” Shiro answered, unable to deny it when it was so obviously the truth but as equally unable to admit how much he enjoyed Keith’s praise.

“I like you too,” Keith said, brushing his fingers against Shiro’s hip, fingers smoothing over a particularly nasty scar that started at his hip and continued down his thigh. Usually Shiro shied away from letting anyone see that, little own touch it, but somehow it felt safe to be exposed to Keith in this way.

The only downside to the entire situation as far as Shiro was concerned was the fact that Keith was still fully dressed.

“You have on too many clothes,” Shiro announced, reaching up to toy with the leather holster around Keith’s waist.

Keith grinned. “Would it please you to see me naked?”

“Yes,” Shiro said embarrassingly fast.

Laughter bubbled out of Keith’s chest and before Shiro could help, Keith was throwing his holster to the ground, his boots and clothing following suit just a few seconds later.

“Better?” he asked, straddling Shiro’s waist.

“Much,” Shiro croaked, shaking hands skimming up the side of Keith’s hips and marveling at the softness of his skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

Keith ducked his head, a few stray hairs falling into his eyes and Shiro reached up, brushing them back from Keith’s face. Then he let his hand move back, stroking over Keith’s hair and letting his fingers graze over the shell of Keith’s ear which was even softer than Shiro had suspected. Keith groaned at the touch, hips rocking against Shiro.

“You like that?” Shiro asked, enjoying the way Keith’s breathing changed as Shiro rubbed the tip of Keith’s ear between his fingers.

“Very much,” Keith groaned, then he unexpectedly swatted Shiro’s hand away. “If you do not stop, I am afraid this will end very quickly.”

“But I want to make you feel good too,” Shiro said, not above sticking his bottom lip out in a pout if it helped him get his way.

“You do.” Keith stroked a hand over Shiro’s stomach. “You will. But for now let me make you feel good, please.”

Then Keith was leaning down— the end of his braid slipping over his shoulder and tickling Shiro’s neck—as he kissed him. Shiro groaned as Keith’s lips moved against his own—soft and sensuous—and he was helpless to do anything but give Keith anything he wanted, including Shiro himself.

Keith kissed the way he lived—without hesitation. There was no hesitation or bashfulness in the way he kissed. Keith kissed him with all the confidence of someone who knew he was pleasing his partner, pulling sounds from Shiro that Shiro had never made in the presence of another person. And that was just a kiss. It made Shiro’s head spin trying to imagine Keith’s mouth other places too.

Just when Shiro felt certain he could happily spend the rest of his days doing nothing but kissing Keith, Keith abruptly pulled out of the kiss. Shiro whined, pawing at Keith’s sides and trying to pull him down for another kiss, earning him a fond laugh.

“You are sweet,” Keith whispered, kissing the tip of Shiro’s nose. “But it is my duty and honor as your mate to love _all_ of you, and I do believe I have been neglecting some rather attention starved areas of your body.”

He reached down, letting his fingers graze over the length of Shiro’s aching cock in a featherlight touch that had Shiro’s hips arching up.

“_Keith_.”

“It is nice when you say my name,” Keith confessed, stroking his fingers along Shiro’s length in another teasing touch. “It pleases me.”

“Keith,” Shiro said again, reaching out to twist Keith’s braid around his finger as pleasure pooled in the pit of his stomach. It was scary and powerful to be so desired by someone else. 

“You like my hair,” Keith said, more of an observation than a judgment. “You look at it a lot.”

“It’s nice hair,” Shiro agreed, playing with the braid, only slightly embarrassed that Keith must've noticed all the times Shiro was unable to take his eyes off him.

“It pleases me when you look,” he confessed, plucking the braid from Shiro’s hand and undoing the knot of leather that kept the braid in place. Then Keith bent forward, letting his braid dangle in front of Shiro. “You may do more than look.”

“Oh,” Shiro breathed. He was surprised to notice a tremble in his hands as he reached out, suddenly feeling as clumsy and inexperienced as a teenager as his fingers unwound the braid. 

Keith remained still, eyes on Shiro the entire time as Shiro continued to undo each of the braids. Keith’s hair was impossibly soft as Shiro shook the braids loose, leaving Keith’s hair to spill down over his shoulders—cascading down his back in waves of black. 

Beautiful. He was so beautiful it made Shiro’s heart ache.

“The Galra have a word for this,” Keith began, voice quiet as he held his hand in the air, palm out towards Shiro. He exhaled slowly, lifting his hand and pressing his palm to Keith’s. “_K’rav_—the joining of two as one. It is the moment our mate accepts us. Do you accept me, Shiro?”

“I do,” Shiro breathed. “But I…I don’t know what to do.”

“Let me love you,” Keith said, as if it were as easy as that. He let his fingers slip in between Shiro’s, joining their hands as he leaned down to kiss Shiro—his hair falling around Shiro and encasing them in a dark halo. 

“I can do that,” Shiro murmured between kisses.

It was crazy. Surely it was too soon to be using the word love. He’d certainly never said it to any of his ex-boyfriends—much to each of their dissatisfaction. And yet Shiro knew it was true—knew he’d started to fall in love with Keith the moment he first laid eyes on him. 

Getting to where they were now didn’t feel too fast—it felt just right. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.

It felt perfect.

“Let me love you,” Keith repeated, kissing his way across Shiro’s jaw and down his neck. Shiro keened, arching beneath Keith and slipping his fingers into Keith’s hair as Keith’s mouth mapped its way down Shiro’s body. He left no part of Shiro untouched, fingers and mouth seeking out every inch of skin from the hollow at his clavicle to the tip of his pinkie and every single star of his tattoo. He kissed his way across the galaxies on Shiro’s body, pausing to lavish extra attention on every gnarled, ugly scar.

Keith lavished as much attention to the back of Shiro’s knee as he did his mouth, nuzzling his hair and ears to the inside of Shiro’s thighs as he stroked fingers over Shiro’s calves and ankles. He worshiped each of Shiro’s scars as if they were beautiful—gentle fingers caressing his skin, followed by even gentler kisses.

Moisture prickled at Shiro’s eyes and he squeezed them shut, hoping to will it away.

“Beautiful,” Keith murmured, a kiss to the inside of each of Shiro’s ankles before he laid them on the bed, urging Shiro to roll over with a gentle squeeze at his hips and a nudge.

Shiro took the hint, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face into the pillow. 

He knew his back was the worst—that it had taken the brunt of his punishments during his time in captivity. He was a victor in the arena, but Zarkon had never let him forget his place every time he was brought back to his cell. His back was scarred and ugly and Shiro hated it. His mind flashed to the one and only time he’d let a lover see his back—to the whispered, _“It’ll be better, more comfortable, if you turn back over”_ he’d said. The words he hadn’t said—I can't bear to look at you—burned into Shiro’s memory forever. But Keith wasn’t his ex. Keith was different.

For one agonizing second Shiro let his anxiety get the worst of him—fear that Keith would realize Shiro was unworthy flooded his brain. Then just as quickly it was gone, Keith’s hands soothing over the gnarled flesh between his shoulders.

“Perfect,” Keith proclaimed.

Shiro shuddered, a choked sob that was muffled into the pillow as Keith worked his way over the ugliest parts of Shiro’s body as if they were something precious.

Keith continued to murmur words of praise as he worked his way down Shiro’s body. By the time Keith was sliding a slicked up finger across his ass Shiro was so ready he thought he might scream—hands fisted in the pillow as he arched back into the touch.

“See, perfect for me,” Keith affirmed, his words whispered against Shiro’s lower back.

Shiro’s ears buzzed—entire body taut with desire. In and out Keith’s finger went—the stretch and burn so exquisite Shiro’s toes curled. It was good. So good. But Shiro needed more. Just when he was close to begging for it, Keith added another finger, then another, leaving Shiro a shuddering mess and unable to contain his scream that time.

“Jesus Christ,” Shiro groaned, rising onto his hands and knees and rocking back into Keith’s touch, despte for _more_.

“You like this,” Keith said, twisting his fingers up to stroke Shiro’s prostate.

Shiro nearly bit a hole in his bottom lip. “Yes.”

“Good,” Keith said, unmistakable pride in his voice. “You do not need to hold back with me. Let me hear how much my touch pleases you.”

“Fuck, Keith.”

“You wish me to fuck you, yes?” Keith teased, rubbing his fingers over Shiro’s prostate again.

“Fuck, yes,” Shiro grunted, arms shaking.

“I will please you,” Keith said, voice dripping with confidence.

Before Shiro could tell him that he already was, the fingers were removed from his ass and replaced by Keith’s cock—the thick head breaching the ring of muscle slowly. Shiro opened his mouth but no sound came out beside a whine as he inhaled sharply. Big. Keith was so big and Shiro had never been so full, never felt so precious as he did when Keith’s hips slammed against his ass and Keith’s chest fell over his back.

“Mine,” Keith breathed, pressing a kiss to the back of Shiro’s neck.

“Yours,” Shiro agree.

No words were spoken after that—no words needed. Instead, it was the language of touch—Keith’s hands finding purchase atop Shiro’s as they moved together. Keith’s breath hot and heavy against his back as Keith thrust—fucking him slow and deep. Fucking him until Shiro was helpless to do anything but moan Keith’s name as he tipped over the edge, collapsing into the bed—a punched out sob ripped from his throat.

“Mine,” Keith repeated. One, two, three more thrusts then he was shuddered against Shiro and dropping onto Shiro’s back.

Shiro grunted, unable to make coherent speech or move—boneless and content.

Keith let out a soft purr, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against Shiro’s back as Keith nosed against Shiro’s shoulder.

“Did I please you?” Keith asked.

Shiro nodded, eyes heavy lidded as he turned his face to squint at Keith over his shoulder.

“You please me. Everything about you pleases me.”

Keith’s ears twitched, his lips turning up in the widest smile Shiro had seen from him yet.

Shiro felt his own lips curl up in an answering smile.

He’d come to New Daibazaal hoping for adventure. He’d found that and more.

So much more.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813).


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